I once knew a man named Gladness,
who had traveled from afar,
in search of the mystical Unicorn
in a mythical land called Bucksstar.
His feet were bare and unshaven.
He trudged through muck and madness.
For his is the grueling epic
of how his name came to be Sadness.
After two, long days of detailed planning,
mapping out his determined quest,
he arrived to the land called Bucksstar,
where he faced his ultimate test.
The sweet and sour Unicorn
had died one day before.
Not even a sprinkle was left to be consumed,
only The Pink Drink to secure.
As the fire-breathing Bucksstar lady
wrote his name upon that grail,
Gladness whispered Sadnesss.
Then, his face went pale.
Sitting with his knights at the square table,
he sullenly sipped his drink.
“Fuck!” He said in despair and gloom.
Unicorns aren’t supposed to be pink.
With shoulders slumped and head hung low,
he wearily trudged to shave his feet.
Hobbits only know success,
and Sadness only knows defeat.