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Rushing River Dance
Vibrant feathers, emerald, violet, rich deep red,
Brushing the cool-spun pillow grass,
Fringed memories of exotic birds.
Warm butter sun slips above the stoic trees,
Heating the crisp morning air
To a balmy summer embrace,
Humid steam swirling from the dewy ground,
Like a released sigh of peace that was led.
Sunlight slants through the trees,
Making dappled green-tinted patterns
Of flickering shadow and deep
Delicious pools of light waltzing
Across the moss-covered floor.
A stray tilting ray reflects a gleam
From beneath a flowering bush,
The gleam of bright eyes eager to see.
Sleek fur, smooth pelt,
Long swooping tail trailing behind
Small slim paws, arched lithe form.
Slipping from the luscious brush,
The Lutari's pace quickens,
Gaze brightening as he hears
The sounds he felt.
Muted roar, a joyful rumble,
The rushed hush of river.
White-capped waves lap the sandy soft shore,
Washing the paws of the lively Lutari.
As the sunlight catches on the water,
Transforming it to a magical sparkling jewel,
He leaps into the waves, a graceful tumble.
The swirling current tugs, inviting
Luring, enchanting, with its
Smooth, silky-cool bliss of deep, mysterious blue.
The Lutari shoots forward, powerful legs parting
The fluid limpid liquid, bubbles of joy
Escaping his smiling mouth
As he is swept through the world
Of aquamarine, from the surface,
Seen as a skimming blue flash,
A slash of azure lightning.
He spins and he swirls,
Twists and twirls,
One with the whirling, powerful waves.
The mighty water, the leaping river,
The heart of the world fused with his own.
His senses stretching to the vast expanse
Of proud waterway curled.
Dance, Lutari! Twirl and gleam!
Become one with the river, one with
The compelling force of the world.
For when you leave the home of
Your spirit and soul, it will be as though
Your heart is breaking
In two halves,
The whisper of the rapturous water
Forever brushing on your pelt.
The murmur of the waves
Forever sighing in your ears.
So dance, Lutari, dance!
Enjoy the peace and bliss
And whenever burdens weigh you down
Recall this lovely summer dream.
Here's a sad Blumaroo farmer.
He had never been quite the charmer.
In the hot sun he would bask,
Due to his tedious task;
He wasn't as cool as those with armour.
Crops were in danger of decay,
So he went to town to sell his hay.
He met a shepherdess,
Causing him to digress,
And the hay was never sold that day.
She was a maiden of fine long hair,
Followed by Babaas who were quite bare.
She planned to sell the wool,
Her basket was full,
But instead went with him to the fair.
Played the games and won prizes:
Neopoints and toys of all sizes.
She lived in Brightvale
And quickly had to bail,
Soon the Blumaroo's sadness arises.
He thinks, "What a waste of a day,
At least I have time to sell my hay."
To earn Neopoints he aims,
But the owner exclaims,
"Young man, there's no hay, just decay."
Th_ L_br_ry F__r__
I sit behind a stately desk,
My posture primly statuesque,
And day and night my fingers find
All the tricky words combined.
A vowel spilling off the side,
A letter trying hard to hide
From the boxes empty, long and square --
Try my puzzles, if you dare.
My wings take flight deep in these books,
Stories lavish in these nooks.
No spells are waiting to be found,
Just clues and frowns all around.
The other faeries help you to grow;
I merely sit here waiting to know
If you should guess correctly
The puzzles by the Library Faerie.
A Dark Hissi Whispered
I have travelled extensively, in rain
And in such storms of lightning and thunder.
I have flown with wings lit aflame in pain,
Yet I swear to you I've made no blunder.
I long for days spent at my home, with kin
Of twisted and dark forms amongst the norm.
I long for days where my dark, scaled skin
Does not bring me looks that tell me, "Conform!"
Nay, I shall not lament my heritage,
Dark though it may be! I am proud to cry,
For all the world, the ever-great vantage
My home brings to the Neopian sky!
Proudly, I call out not for Meridell,
But for the ever-shrouded Citadel.
I am but a lonely Hissi, weak and
Offered no warmth by any other pet.
Extend to me any paw, wing, or hand,
And I will show you a world that I bet
You will have never truly understood.
We Darigans are not a bad sort,
Just a bit different beneath a hood
Of bad reputations, wars, and court.
And so, I beg of you, curse not our home,
But see us for who we really are.
Those of us still left in this cloudy dome
Will thank you for such forever-true care.
If they ask who sent all of you, my dears,
Say, "A dark Hissi whispered in my ears."
Grumpy Old King
I once asked a Grumpy Old King,
I told him a riddle, a quite simple thing,
"Sire, when is a family of Candychan
Similar to the Tiki Tack Man?"
He grunted softly and rolled his eyes,
Since my joke had taken him quite by surprise.
Intrigued and curious for the final conclusion,
He asked me gruffly for the joke's solution.
"My lord, the answer's a simple fact:
When they equip a bag of Tyrannian Korbat!"
I expected a laugh, a nod, or a smile,
To prove that my joke had indeed been worthwhile.
But though I gave him my soul's offering,
No response did I get from that Grumpy Old King.
Not a prize, not a gift, not even a glance,
My humour was barely given a chance!
Just a stiff little wave and away I fled,
My comedic future now filled with dread.
Perhaps I will head down to Brightvale for a bit,
And impress a more intelligent king with my wit.
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