A flight in darkness overhead ought not
To bring much joy, and yet I gaze on high.
That single sight has held my nightly thoughts.
Without her there, much poorer is the sky.
Outlined against the stars and moon her form
Is dark on dark, yet dimmer are the lights.
Though moonlight’s beams bring not the sun’s fair warmth,
By moonlight see: How radiant our nights!
Fair Luna, Princess of the Night once more,
In your return, all ponies celebrate!
Night’s silky, gentle, beauty we adore;
Pray bless us with your art, who stargaze late!
We revel, princess! You’ve at last returned!
Again, we’re ruled by both for whom we ye
The Ballad of Bit Switch and Pixel by Rhiss, literature
Literature
The Ballad of Bit Switch and Pixel
To toil for love is hardly new;
It’s common as can be.
Yet some bring heartache on themselves,
When they refuse to see.
For love is not a one way road,
And she’s out looking too.
So when you think, “She can’t be won,”
Perhaps she’s watching you.
And so it was for poor Bit Switch,
Who swore that he’d create
A bridge from his to Pixel’s heart.
No longer would he wait.
Invention being Switch’s gift,
He pondered what to make.
A gift to win a young mare’s love:
Whatever could that take?
He paced and planned and paced again,
Devising his device,
A thing so grand she’d gasp in awe
Blossoms are not always fair,
Though crimson they may be,
And plumes are better borne by birds
Than born in tragedy.
Morning comes unbidden now.
Bring back the night before,
For who would want to carry on
If this is what’s in store?
Let the blossoms be perennials,
Sprung up inside of you,
And plumes of smoke need not leave ash,
The phoenix has them too.
"Oh no, my dear,
you're staying here,"
My warden coyly said.
By Lucky trapped,
In bandage wrapped,
I just hung low my head.
What use to flee?
She'd just catch me,
By chase, or winged friend,
And so I stayed,
Glad, not dismayed,
This shrine will be my end.
From fragile flowers’ brilliant blooms,
The shame of many masters’ looms.
What needle, pray, could stitch so dear
A gown as lies before me here?
The greatest seamstress well inspired,
Would envy soil as here attired.
She’s an amazingly beautiful mare,
Black mane wreathes a lovely face.
I somehow managed not to stare,
But I certainly couldn’t keep pace.
She’s an amazingly beautiful mare,
And yet, we’re on a walk.
She’s an amazingly warm-hearted mare,
Concerned with my lonely life.
I can’t imagine why she’d care.
That I’ve no hope of finding a wife.
She’s an amazingly warm-hearted mare,
It seems she’s warming mine.
She’s an amazingly mischievous mare,
Each word makes me quickly blush!
She’s saying things I’d never dare!
And my heart, like a fool, starts to rush!
She’s an a
Attention, mares and gentlecolts, direct your eyes this way!
Upon this stage prepare to walk the land’s most lovely mares!
No matter what your tastes may be, you’ll find them here today!
From bold to belle, and wild to wise, they’ll catch you unawares!
But keep your calm, and watch this way; we’re just about to start.
Before we do, there’s just one thing: don’t let them steal your heart!
Our first to walk may sport a skirt, but doesn’t skirt her sport.
Forget the score; she’s sure to win, and you’ll be stuck with love.
Advantage in, for when she serves, she dominates the court.
This mare
On gusts and drafts, I bounce and float,
Devoid of patterns, shunning rote.
Each draft a shock, no certainty:
That’s what I want my love to be.
Never certain, on high alert.
Far too nervous for my comfort,
“What’s she thinking?” Wait and see.
That’s what I want my love to be.
Learning each other, bit by bit,
Confessing, though scared to admit.
I won’t trade for complacency.
That’s what I want my love to be.
Since all affection slowly cools,
And passion’s soon replaced by rules,
I’ll pass on any surety.
That’s what I want my love to be.
No hints or guidance on the way;
To know the
The fragile young filly did want to belong,
But was too weak to roughhouse or play.
Too tall, rather scrawny, not one to turn heads,
Thus ignored by the colts every day.
For her sake she withdrew, became distant, aloof,
Keeping far and away when she might.
Not angry, just hurting--was there no love for her?
And softly she wept every night.
Night became day, and day became night,
And slowly her heart was inured.
But while growing callous a danger arose:
She was falling, while she thought she endured.
Brooding alone, she bade others no ill.
Her poor heart collapsed on itself.
Never malicious, not hateful nor cruel,
But ignored, always left o