Within the cavern’s crystal-laced embrace,
Young Alice stands, a smile upon her face.
With steady hand, a ladle she does hold,
To stir the secrets of a story told.
Beside her, Fle, the aged old elf,
A gentle guide, in verdant clothing self.
He turns the crank of the arcanum machine,
A bubbly brew, a vibrant, glowing scene.
From humble sacks of ‘FERTILIZER’ and ‘SOIL,’
The earthy base for their enchanting toil.
They add the Arcanum, a liquid bright,
A splash of magic in the cavern’s light.
The air is thick with whispers of the old,
A tale of wonders, beautiful and bold.
As colors swirl in the machine’s deep bowl,
They mix a potion to enrich the soul.
And watching on, a mouse with curious eyes,
Nibbles on cheese beneath the cavern skies.
The scent of magic, a soft, ethereal haze,
Fills Alice and the elf with sweet amaze.
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 