A young fellow told me of his town,

A land that was barren and runned down,

The place had a few trees and a little creek,

'It's really cold but I think you'd like it,' he said,

But even for me it was a little too bleak,

'Cause the color of the sky never changed,

Black and grey it remained,

I turned fifty shades of green,

When he spoke about the town's cuisine,

I thought to myself, "Who eats blackened bread and raw sardines?"

I paled when the name of the town was revealed,

The town I was moving to, Starkfield. 

- Reba Paul