Coruption by Mischief.

O' The tree's doth bloom, and sing with merryment.
As I dig this hole and cover with leaves, WaItING.

A shadow enlarges to a face, I do not see, but nevertheless
still a face indeed.

Falling, hitting walls and bottom did she as a
wimper turned to purr.
Comforted by the fact of her cunningness to
survive.
A scratching gnaws on the walls and then a
sudden thud, followed by a wimper.

A new unheard voice arises from the hole.
Amazed, enlightend, and new, The voice claims
something that can't be claimed, and still
the grass awakens with dew.
A promise is made but never would be kept,
the deal was changed and as I linger over the
hole looking down at my reflection, I am
overcome by a sheer fasination to notice that
I am not me anymore.

And you have pushed me in... looking up.

Penned by my hand on the 13th of Chakros, in the year 134 MA.