'Twas dark in the woods, and all was still.
A faint noise in the distance
pricked Agent Shepherd's ears.
Crouching, his head in his hands,
hidden behind a giant oak tree,
Shepherd knew he must put aside any fears
and proceed with his mission.

He had been sent to seek out and rescue
a fellow poet from the shadows of hell.
Ill-prepared and on the verge of madness,
Shepherd rose to his feet.

"I must protect... I must protect,"
muttered the reluctant hero as he made his way
blindly through the blackness.

Approaching closer, the noise became clear:
gentle sobbing.

Branches bowed down, blocking Agent Shepherd's path.
He cleared the way, continuing doggedly to
reach the cries.

And there she was.

Sat upright, huddled,
hands clutching her arms
tightly around her knees,
weeping.

"Mrs. Willow?"

The distressed poet's head lifted.

"Who's there?"

Agent Shepherd slowly knelt down
and softly spoke:
"Hey there, Mrs. Willow."

"Richard?"

"Yes, it is I. Everything will be okay, I promise.
Hold my hand and let me take you home."

She nodded her head and clasped his outstretched
hand.

---

Sunbeams shone radiantly through the bedroom curtains.
As the weary poet awoke,
a feeling of wonderment and fresh energy
surged within her.
Laughing gently,
a small, then larger, smile filled her face.

---

"Agent Shepherd, you have completed your mission. Well done."

"Thank you, sir. It was a pleasure."

"We at the Poetic Justice Bureau want you to know that the mission was not only for Mrs. Willow.
It was also for you.
Do you feel a sense of self-worth now?"

"I do, sir."

"Good. Now, rest up, because soon enough, your services will be
called upon again."

"Yes, sir, and thank you, sir."