Once upon a path less trodden,
I walked in rain that left me sodden,
and set in search of herbs with which to brew elixir pure.
Upon that road I wandered stray,
and found ahead and in my way
a patch of flowers brilliant blue that tempted me with sick allure.
Then my fate was sealed, fo’ sure.
‘Beware, beware’, I once had warned,
Alas, my own advice I scorned
to spy the foul nature of the Poison Joke that lay before.
As I realized my error,
my striped body filled with terror,
and my tongue took on this foulest cadence that I now bear forth.
Quoth this zebra “I’ll procure,
the antidote, on my detour.”
So ahead I trod thereafter,
My hooves treading soil far faster,
Seeking, longing desperate to find the herbs that I’d implore.
In a beam of sunlight resting,
Heart's Desire, waited, resting,
in the midst of hydras nesting,
nesting on the forest floor.
Only they, and nothing more.
Fetching forth my shaman’s stave,
I steeled my nerves, for I was brave,
and knew that I would rather die than rhyme this way—so foul, impure.
So I leapt into the fray,
and as I speak, suffice to say,
that as the sunbeam glimmered, glistened, off the neck rings that I wore,
those foul hydras could not stand to keep me from the herbal cure.
Of this fact, I must assure.
When the battle fierce with frenzy
came to end in, glory, and the
envy of the other shamans of my lands on foreign shore,
I secured my precious plants
(and did a little vict’ry dance)
‘fore turning back toward my hut where more ingred’nts waited for
my careful hoof, and nothing more.
In my home both warm welcome,
concealed behind a mask named Malcom
(and I must protest at just how hard it is to rhyme decor);
there I hid my second need,
a bottle full of secret seed,
but when I looked upon that flask, my heart sank down beneath the floor
in pain that I could not restore.
The seeds I needed were expended,
and though I tried and I pretended,
the truth was I lacked that which my potion wanted for.
Worse still yet, I thought in passing,
with new horror, still surpassing
that which I had in my years of alchemy e’er known before:
those rare seeds that I required
grew not of Joke, nor Heart’s Desire,
but a plant that only grew along my people’s distant shore.
Ego’s Weed, we called the reedy
stalk of which we hoarded, needy
for its strange and potent powers to undo spells both foul and poor.
Yet it only grew when seen,
and so in glens both brown and green,
we set up masks that fooled the plant to think it was viewed with ardor.
Just a trick, and nothing more.
But with each trip that Apple Bloom
had come into my living room,
her rambunctious nature caused my masks to fall from my front door,
and their hooks on walls and more.
So my Ego’s Weed had withered,
and it could not be delivered.
I knew that a great voyage ‘cross the waves to home would I endure,
if I sought to speak once more.
Twilight Sparkle’s glistening castle,
held the tool that I was after:
a swift and silent air balloon, not seen nor used since Season Four.
I rapped twice upon the ingress,
and Twilight, seeking to impress,
in no more than two mere seconds flung open that gorgeous door.
“Zecora, what brings you to town,
so early?” and then with a frown,
she added “Please, you’ve got to help get Pinkie off of the dance floor.
She’s been holed up in there since four.”
“I fear I cannot help you yet,
but please, heed me and do not fret,
for I have need of the balloon you’ve hidden here since Season four.
I must travel far offshore.”
Twilight frowned. “Whatever for?”
Before I could elaborate,
in rhymes that left me quite irate,
Pinkie Pie rushed out from hallways decked with gems and gilded doors.
“Zecora, what’s wrong? You sound sick!
What’s with all of the trochaic
octameter? I don’t like it. Sounds depressing, that’s for sure!
Ooh, sounds spooky. Nevermore!”
I’ll spare you now a full transcription
of my elaborate prescription
necessary to remove the curse that I had suffered for.
Once my recitation finished,
Pinkie’s smile had not diminished.
And she insisted that she join me on my quest to foreign shore.
So we packed up the balloon,
with cupcakes, ice cream, giant spoons,
and other implements of waste that she found at the party store.
Only this and nothing more.
The fire lit, and up we flew,
into the open, cloudless blue,
for Rainbow had found ten seconds to clear the sky between her snores.
And out across the open sea,
we flew, and threw a ‘sea party’
that left me in a fouler mood than even twisted rhymes before.
I’d never been skysick before.
After days of sweets and candy,
in the distance I saw sandy
beaches that I recognized from months and years that passed before.
Longing for a lime or grass,
or any other plant to pass
for food that wasn’t laced with sugar, my eyes filled with thoughts galore.
Even seaweed on the shore,
I dined on it, and nothing more.
“Well, we made it! Where’s this Ego
stuff we need? And when can we go
meet some zebras? They like candy? 'Cause, you know, I brought some more!”
After moments spent to vomit,
I shot off, a stripey comet,
looking for familiar masks that on the trees would mark my spore.
T'was all I dreamed, and nothing more.
Pinkie followed, gaily hopping,
somehow tracking, never stopping,
‘til will shrill and piercing shriek she cried out with her whole lungs “Score!”
Only this, and nothing more.
Yet I’d say nothing more was needed,
for ahead, a field was seeded
Rich with Ego’s Weed and ringed with striped and spotted masks galore.
Not long after, I combined
the potion that was there defined,
upon the page contained in Supernaturals’ rare and precious lore.
And with a sigh, I breathed aloud,
That precious breath, drawn tall and proud,
and there pronounced my judgement on that foul blue weed that made me sore:
“No more! No more! Nevermore!
I’ll burn that awful plant, for sure!”
Author's Note
Apart from a few grammatical edits, this fic is presented as it was produced, during the 2-hour period for the Iron Author competition at Everfree Northwest 2015. I hope you've enjoyed it.
