Who dwelt in the Westward Forest,
She ruled o'er the land with a gentle hand,
And the trees echoed in harmonyess,
In the far east lived a wicked coniferous,
Whose curious metallurgy were as if ferrous,
He schemed and he sought to destroy the whole lot,
Of the creatures in the Westward Forest,
So hence he went, his wicked address,
To deliver to the inhabitants of the Westward Forest,
"Thy time hast come, now taste my razor alum!
Today I transgress our fragile acquiesce!"
"To battle! To arms! Sound the alarm!
These innocent creatures shalt thou ne'er harm,
Your time has come, thou wicked fiend,
As signaled by my breaking of the rhyme scheme!"
Thus rushéd forth the armies of cress,
To meet their fate at the hands of death,
But Wyrd would not have it, and they suddenly learned,
Trees are not made of metal and lions are not indigenous to temperate coniferous forest habitats.
© 2011 Tyler McCord
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