The Writer's Cramp Contest entry
This tale is true.
In the time of Red Leaf,
Many warriors were sorely soft,
Their manhood had no strength.
A road trip,
A modern walkabout,
A rite rooted by Red Leaf's fathers,
Was ready by autumn.
Red Leaf drove,
Through foothills and mountains,
Rivals thought it inconsequential,
For they didn't understand.
One dark night,
While camped near HooDoo Butte,
A wildfire broke out, blown by the wind,
It raced toward Red Leaf.
Red Leaf ran.
Toward the Lake of the Lost,
But tangled by a fence in disrepair,
Red Leaf was burned alive.
At night, near HooDoo Butte,
You might spy poor Red Leaf's running ghost,
And hear his screams for help.