Travails along a shoddy lane,
stomping feet and guarded mane,
terrible trifles of thorny tail,
agile on thought yet so frail.

Hopping among the tiniest grass,
engulfed in whirlpool of words so crass,
never mind the irony of dreamy dance,
upon the crown of victory by chance.

Warped sense of space and time,
bells of futile fortitude chime,
for under the canopy, darkness brightened,
thumping footsteps of creatures, frightened.

No wisdom tooth would save the fool,
shameful grace of apparently harmless tool,
nonetheless, the beast pounced upon its prey,
and destroyed every bit along its way.