//------------------------------//
// Canto I 
// Story: The Song of the Mandrake Queen 
// by Tavifag 
//------------------------------//

Across the bridge and down the roads
As cobbles turn to loam
Just past the pond with croaking toads
There stood a lonely home

And in the home there was a mare
Whose days were full of toil
She cultivated carrots there
In dark and fertile soil

Her cutie mark was just the same
As her delicious crop
It even did inspire her name:
They called her Carrot Top.

She led a very simple life
Monotonous and dull
Enduring hardship, pain, and strife
For one most noble goal

Her dreary life had but one light
One reason to exult
One thing that made the sun shine bright:
A darling little colt.

She was his mom, and he her son
Though she was no one’s wife
She worked until the day was done
To win her son's good life

He was an energetic boy
Quite perfect in and out
He brought his mother pride and joy
His name was Carrot Sprout.

Yet their horizon held dark clouds
For just beyond their farm
Beneath the forest’s leafy shrouds
Was one who meant them harm.

It started on one bright fall day
As leaves were turning red
When little Sprout was made to stay
At home, quite sick in bed

His mother did not feel concern
The flu was all it was
But as his fever came to burn
It gave his mother pause

When, after resting one whole day,
Poor Sprout was still so ill
She knew that she would have to pay
A hefty doctor’s bill.

She opened wide her dusty purse
And laid her money bare
She sighed and mumbled out a curse
She could not pay for care

As Carrot Sprout whimpered and cried
While in his bed he laid
She knew she’d have to squelch her pride
And beg the doc for aid

She made the long trip into town
And found the doctor there
She set her threadbare coin purse down
And pleaded for his care

The small-town doc was old and gray,
He also was quite kind
He promptly set off without pay
To see what he could find.

Upon arriving at her stead
The doctor tasted fear
The young colt’s tongue was crimson red
His illness then was clear

He prayed that it was not the case
Ran all the tests he could
They failed, and so he had to face
An outlook far from good

He told the colt he’d be okay
And patted his sweet head
He did not have the heart to say
The child would soon be dead

But still, the mother had to know
Her son’s impending doom
He tried to blunt the heavy blow
With tactful, kind aplomb

His tone was gentle as he spoke
He was direct, not vague
But still the farmer's poor heart broke
At news of foul Red Plague.

The weeping mare fell to the floor
Her agony was pure
Through sobs she managed to implore
The doc to find a cure

The doctor swore to do his best
To save the colt from harm
Advising liquids, soup, and rest,
He left the carrot farm.