In a beautiful land,

Where there is meant to be verdant plains,

Anointed with blossoming bird cherries and daisies,

Remarkably fertile and lush,

Tainted with venom stains,

Leaving her soil sterile and depleted.



Beyond the plethora of satin valleys,

Below the large mound,

Lies a lithe serpent,

Supinely resting above two boulders,

Plaguing what should be a tenderly elegant land.



Legends speak of a panacea,

In the form of a magical elixir,

Created by a majestic fairy,

Powerful enough to make the rocky terrain,

Morph into a gentle and fecund prairie.



Prayers to the Goddesses are chanted,

Yet no answers are given,

No growth has been noticed,

From the hundreds of seeds that have been planted.



The inhabitants of the land,

Grow jaded,

As the beauty of the area has faded,

So the potion of a witch is implemented,

As the words are muttered of ancient spells,

To save the land where the serpent dwells.



The rough and jagged edges begin,

To transform into softness and beautiful curves,

And it seems the land has been stripped of its sin,

Yet the Spell could not vanquish the serpent,

The acrid taste of venom lingers,

Disgracing the sacred valley.



The land's beauty returns,

Exuding an alluring aroma,

Enticing the humans to once again reside,

Within her realm,

As eye-opening conviction blazingly burns,

But no potion is artful enough,

To purge the prairie of the serpent's presence,

Nor its pride!