As the green meadows grace Sir Rant-A-Lot with songs of the
wild, he ponders whether it is but the potion of a witch intoxicating him into
a curse of the Green Ogre. Though he is at peace and joy, he cannot help but
wonder to what end lies his journey. Where he sees the pixie no longer sings,
the leprechaun merely broods upon his pot without a genuine smile gracing his
face, the caveman retires to his dwelling far away from Sir Rant-A-Lot; it
cannot be a surprise that Sir Rant-A-Lot starts to feel used. A tool of the
trade. Yet, he cannot deny his great affections to the dandelions dancing in
the sun. How shall he continue his conquest? Will Sir Rant-A-Lot summon his
steed and be on his way?
Here in the green meadows Sir Rant-A-Lot finds kindness,
friendship, and solace. Is he thus ungrateful to be pondering such thoughts?
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