Once upon a time,
As all stories are told,
The world began,
From among the broken glass,
That was scattered about in a little plain,
From which the little wildflowers grew.
The glass was buried away,
Hidden admist the little leaves,
With only the little critters for company.
Once every three dreams from each full moon,
And a smile from every sun,
A hero or a villain wanders through,
The little wildflowers crushed,
And the broken glass decorated with fresh blood,
Leaving the little winds to blow,
The dried blood away.
The world has yet to end,
And the little winds to stop blowing,
Wishing for the villains and the heroes to stay,
And wipe their blood away.