"In Endor’s fields where blossoms grew in gentle, glowing dew,
Young Poppy Flumplewhiff skipped lightly as the morning grew.
Her basket brimmed with colours as she wandered calm and bright,
A drifting piece of quiet in the forest’s dappled light.

Then suddenly the treeline shook, the woodland peace betrayed,
As thrashing ferns announced the sort of chaos flowers hate.
A scout trooper came roaring past in blur and frantic streak,
Pursuing one lone rebel through the underbrush and teak.

They tore across her meadow like two hurricanes on wheels,
Leaving flattened daisies swirling in their wake of churned-up feels.
But Poppy, ever patient in her floral-fancy place,
Just plucked a fresher bouquet with a slightly raised eyebrow face"

"In the hush of a hallway where families tread slow,
A painting hung proudly with warm golden glow.
Inside it stood Lara, mid–stride with her aim,
Till one quiet evening… she stepped from the frame.

No words, no announcement, no dramatic cue,
Just the soft tap of boots on the carpeted view.
She surveyed the surroundings, all homely and neat,
Then dashed down the stairs with her pixelled swift feet.

She vaulted toy boxes and dodged Lego pits,
Slid under a table that wobbled in fits.
She tiptoed past trainers left strewn by the door,
And clambered up bookshelves like cliffs to explore.

She scaled the tall laundry (a mountain of socks),
Tamed a wild Roomba who guarded the box.
She leapt from the banister, flawless and clean,
Landing right next to the washing machine.

Through bedrooms she travelled with nimble finesse,
Leaving footprints of crumbs in her pixelled distress.
She unearthed old treasure beneath someone’s bed,
A half-eaten biscuit and Barbie’s lost head.

She battled the hoover, a beast in its lair,
Rode the dog briefly who didn’t much care.
She found ancient relics in drawers left ajar,
Like hair ties, odd coins, and a plushy guitar.

But adventures grow heavy on tea-time’s soft wind,
And Lara knew well where her journey must end.
So back to the study she crept, calm and small,
Climbed into her painting and blended with all.

The owner walks past, unaware of the stray,
Entered the room at the end of the day.
They noticed faint footprints then muttered a sigh,
And straightened the painting as they wandered by.

Lara stood silent, returning their glance,
Not a whisper or nod… but a hint of mischance.
For though she’d explored every corner with glee,
She was back in her frame for her ritual tea.

The picture says, “Relax, behave,
Stay neatly in your little square.”
Smile nicely, match the colour scheme,
Pretend the world’s not full of… things.

He’s not the prettiest on the wall,
Not polished, posed, or colour-true.
Doesn’t quite match, stands out too much,
The sort of dog art whispers “ really...you?”

He screams, he panics, runs in rings,
He trips on fear and barks at air.
But when the weird comes knocking loud,
He’s somehow, oddly, always there.

Because the bravest dog we know
Is not the calm one in the frame.
It’s one who’s scared of everything
And still shows up… despite the same. 

When Mario and Luigi need a break,
From Bowser and Koopas and piranha-lake,

They'll swap warp pipes for yachts,
And trade Goombas for spots,
On a canvas where holidays bake.

Even heroes who leap over fire and bricks,
Need a splash in the sea, just for kicks.

They can park all the shells,
Hang up superstar spells,
And just chill where the pixel-sea flicks. 

Cast from his age by Aku’s spite,

He stands where time forgets its name.

A blade of sun, a vow of night,

A man sustained by quiet flame.

No crowd bears witness. No gods speak.

Only wind, and water, and resolve.

Evil may bend the years and weeks,

But not the soul it failed to solve.

Exiled through ages

Aku’s curse bends the world thin

Steel remembers home