In the midst of a meadow of sand, she sowed some seeds
And woke early to prepare them for the sun’s rays
Humming soothing remedies for their aches and tender caresses
When they drank, water she collected from the middle of the lake
Such crystal, vibrant beauty a creation never created, and of course
The story begins with the meadow she sought, in a hardened land
Cracked and dry, her coarse fingers knead and crumbled, and of course
She could not know the meadow was surrounded by angst, the bi-annual quakes
She swiftly overcame and toiled and toiled and toils still, underestimating
Her own perseverance, and the Valley’s molten terrored core
