"O, Danto, the merry soul; in smoky glade you wander
And dream about the ponds of gold and the woodland way down yonder,
Be it myth or majesty of a creator not yet pondered
For the magic deep within this realm cannot be the fonder.
The master tree he calls us to the middle of the forest
And through his song he sings from there the splendor of his chorus
So we must go and venture off for the day is yet before us,
And find the master of the wood; to find the master florist.
We need to hurry now cause with night time comes the laughter
And darker things, the Darklings bring and will surely follow after,
we'll retreat into the woodland realm to the shelter of the master
And we'll hide beneath the boughs and leaf to await our rapture.
You've heard the tales of how he ties the flowers to the branches
And builds their arms into the sky like forlorn elven mansions
The roots they grow way deep down low and so he makes the canyons
And brings to life that magic glow that shall guard us from the phantoms.
He sings from there from dawn til' noon his greater song of glory
And causes buds in fall to bloom with thoughts of them adoring.
He sends his voice upon the wind with wings of moonlight soaring
And gives to those he both hates and loves either shelter or a warning."
YOU ARE READING
The Last of the Last Adventures
FantasyDanto Stormhill, a well-to-do halfling has lived out his days of adventure being tormented and harassed by a bothersome fae. Settling down after years of joyless ruin and being swept off on one terrible adventure after another, Danto has finally rip...
