Old mossy protector, King of frogs, Stood tall with wooden scepter, In the festering bogs, You watch silently, With eyes of rotten oak. Guide my spirit quietly, To nature like a moth to smoke.
Sweet little bee, Are you happy? Do you like spending your days, In a heat-filled summer haze? Do you love your family? Or do you think of fantasy? Are your dreams filled with things, From pure imagination and other beings? Little bee, do you live vicariously, Through literature, art, escape reality? Do you dream of heights much greater than thee? Or of the deepest places, you’ll never see? You’re so mysterious, And yet so precarious.
Who knows what a girl could be thinking about at this hour, Locked away with only her mind full of wonder, It’s as though the answers are hidden behind a broken tumbler. She wonders when curiosity will pull her under. But there is good and bad in her mind, And it’s the excitement of probable find, That makes it impossible to unwind, At such an unsuitable time. He is no maimed devil, And no amount of chastising metal, Will hold back the shrieking voice of Never-Settle, A mental rebel, a great spell, who tells of great peril. “You wonder a lot for such a young thing like yourself, I see you are worried but don’t fret I have a fix. Don’t think of me as some evil elf, I assure you, dear, forget the skeptics. Take my especially proven potion To stop this awful commotion, I can unlock the latch you’ve always wanted open. But you must be warned that t...
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