Through seventeen sections of figment and fall,
She ebbed into legends renown.
For into a story of karma and class,
Entrancing a mythical town.
Past hillsides of willy-whisps, coppered in chrome,
Euphoric dedundrums to sing.
Three farahips riding on waves sparkled rose,
A halo of rapture to ring.
Bewitched by the presence of old versus new,
The time for unwillingness past.
A landscape epiphany blanketed free,
Awaiting creation at last.
The first thing to do in a land unrestrained,
Post-weaving a web of rapport,
Is offering peace to the pixies who reign,
And registering with grandeur.
Then searching for purpose in freedom bespoke,
She rambled to pastures enriched with all hues,
To ponder the role of fating.
Perhaps in the honor of leading a cause,
Or studying archival dreams.
The man with periphery questions of hope,
Will riddle all passion extremes.
Voluminous mystery waiting to breathe,
A map-work with no confirmed course.
By dancing in soul-stream and heart-stunning love,
You'll come to "The Cranny of Orsss".