The flickering candle lit the deteriorating cabin

An owl stood on a branch whooing out in the forest

The author sat at his old wooden desk

devising fantasies for the young ones

They listened around the campfire as it blazed in fury

To never have an adventure of their own

 

The life of the red rose was a fading ghost

The creature was a nightmare from the darkest of despairs

Hidden in a tower, a dazzling white star shone

Its power immeasurable, overpowering darkness

Leaving light the everlasting champion

 

Her heart was filled with unrequited love

She was a lone with with a pack of freedom as her friend

She was as free as an eagle, soaring the sky with abandon

Without a wielder of a sword to cut her down

 

She was trapped in the foul, eerie dungeon

with nothing but a Faustian bargain to be made

Her choices were like a single paved road

Then the path split into two, giving a chance for redemption

All for the price of a name

 

Bucket after bucket courage and will were gathered

In 1739, time was ready to fight for the freedom of the enslaved

The buckets marched and attacked adamantly, but to no avail

The unyielding bristles of the brooms stood waving in the air

 

Dawn peeked out from behind the fluffy alabaster clouds illuminating the dark sky

The children around the campfire stood up as adults with owls on their shoulders

The tales were chiseled into their memories

The realities were as clear as the forest of stories