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// Over the hilltops 
// Story: Oh, My Dear Octavia 
// by Toe-walker 
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Up the hills winds the way
Flanked by tall stalks that sway,
Stinging to make you stay
And, at the top, there play
Light golden rays.
Gallop, Octavia, smoothly as lace.

Breath moves reluctantly,
Dryly and lifelessly,
Coldly and whistlingly,
Yet to stop now would be
Too great a risk.
Gallop, Octavia, weightless and brisk.

Up and away you fly,
Feeling like pegasi
Surely must feel to ply
Miles of cloudless sky,
Awed by its length.
Gallop, Octavia, drawn by your strength.

Then, as you slow your pace,
Clearing the top with grace,
There lies that lustrous place,
Wiping your furrowed face
Clean of its frown.
Hurry, Octavia, home to your town.