The malignant moon pursued the benign sun.

The stars slowly lost their shyness,

And wrathful foxes fumbled toward their darkened dens.

A mistress of philanthropy, a maiden of nature,

Gracefully strolled toward a bubbling, babbling brook,

Where she sat elegantly, solemnly whispering

To the soft river of life

The thoughts and beliefs that intrigued her,

Comforted her, and , yet, betrayed her.

The beautiful, bubbling brook, as if replying to

The matron's agonizing call,

Leaped and sprung forward with a tiny wave,

Soothing the nymph from her pains and worries.

The maiden sauntered forward,

Her petite feet glided over the placid ground,

Leading her to her destination.

She encroached upon a flourishing flowerbed

Where burgeoning roses and dandelions

Constantly fought for the other's audience;

But this serene moment was soon shattered

By the thundering hooves to the east of this heaven,

Where vociferous vandals ruthless rode toward her.

The young maiden, while gazing at the grand roses,

Gradually directed her head to the incessant cacophony and din,

And soon hereafter dropped soft, delicate petals

To the security of the earth.

To the west, a new foe approached.

Weathered and wanton, they galloped hastily toward her.

In the name of a mighty monarch had they arrived

To pursue, punish, and plunder the contentious thieves.

The two titanic forces rampaged one another,

In a dense blizzard of confusion and chaos,

Causing the staunch safety of the earth to be mangled

And allowing the maiden's innocence to be addled with ambiguity.

She wept and wondered, while bewilderment abruptly dispersed in the air.

The clandestine enigma of this extraordinary scene

Scared, confused, and, yet, soothed the poor, pitiful soul.

After a few flutters of the nymph's gentle eyes

And after a few somber, melancholy tears

Had stumbled down her ashen face,

An accursed, atrocious battle burgeoned;

Butchery, bloodshed, and carnage

Enveloped the sweet ground and engulfed

The maiden's once-infinite love and joy.

The gentle, strolling, whispering stream of peace

Became a gashing, lamenting, crimson river of tragedy;

The salvation of nature ceased,

And the calm of the holy heavens

Altered into an evil of all evils

Plagued by the base ardor for avarice.

The maiden was no more;

A malignancy had harshly embraced her white innocence,

And the matron's true emotions glided off

Along with the defilement of nature

Into a deep and distant abyss. . .

And the malignant moon entombed the benign sun.