Buried amidst an emerald roof,
A forest glade lies unscathed and serene.
A little bird with feathers of blue
Flutters among the broad leaves.
The trees sing their greeting
As they sway gently in the breeze.

The bird whistles, an ebullient sound,
When he lands on his favorite flower.
Her efflorescence has newly begun,
And her beauty is fathomless.
It seems as though the forest is frozen in time;
An epitome of joy and peace.

But the roar of thunder pierces through the peace
And it is shattered by the shaking of the earth.
A monster with an iron maw rampages through the forest
Impeding the trees in its ire.
The bird watches with sorrow
They sing sadly as they fall.

He races through the sky
To escape this inimical beast.
The bird looks down and perceives an image of horror:
His flower slowly disappears into the ruins.
The beauty of the forest turns to hell;
The secret world turns black with smoke.

At last, the roar of the rampage dies down,
The smoke dissipates, and the monster recedes.
Only a lost stump of a tree remains;
The plants that once sang their bliss have gone.
Sitting upon this solitary, final stump,
The little bird mourns.