There once a flower bright in color white,

On top a tree of heights in forest green;

And worshipped by the wind of one true might,

A bard that sings the renown of his queen.

Trees dance in sync to breeze who softly blows;

The parting gift from love, well-packed on him.

The splattered ponds toasting on love that grows;

And songs of love, the birds all softly sing.

Harmony of two things ruined when the third,

A noisy fellow with yellow on black;

Who found a certain way to flower's heart;

Sucked all her essence, on her feelings fed.

E'er since the birds no longer feel the breeze,

Who used to carry that fabulous scent.

All singing birds no longer sing the feats;

A tale of love, too sooner met its end.

There left a forest with no breeze nor sound;

On trees that lie as still, no flower now.