The things you think aren’t real
May suddenly appear
Shadows out of the corner of your eye
Meant to cause you fear
The final scroll must be retrieved,
For the shaded realm has come to play
The temple of air must be appeased
For the Shadow King to go away.
As the harvest nears,
Cries of joy ring over the land
But be weary of new plagues,
That may turn the fields to sand.
Consider what is around you
Before too much is sold,
For helping those in need
Is worth far more than gold.