I look at the fairy,
And think to myself,
"I cannot comprehend how much love she pours into something.
I cannot fathom creating constellations to help her surmount her obstacles,
For she has created her own to guide her."
And here I am, sitting under an olive tree,
Watching her twirl and slip through the flimsy canopy of the forest.
Sorry Hercules, Cerberus has already been slain.
Not by us; but by her own magical knight in shining armour.
It's strange how jealous I am,
Yet I feel no envy or regret.
Okay, maybe a slight fragment of regret;
But don't worry pal, Cerberus won't be emerging from my dark depths.
It's almost like she refracts the stars' rays and creates her own iridescence.
Such a spectacular sight.
That I cannot caress nor look at for too long,
I may go blind.
And apparently love is blind.
The irony.
Well, no matter; I can still relax here on the soil,
And remain calm for she isn't going anywhere.
Right?