There was a tree behind the shrine As long as she remembered, Through every tick of passing time And every last December, And since she was quite self-aware That written were her seasons, Hakurei Reimu said, “It’s there - That tree - yes - for a reason.”
She pondered long and pondered hard Of what the tree could mean- Of what her author (curse that tard) Intended to be seen- Was it a symbol? Metaphor? A meaning tucked away? To force the readers to think more On what he had to say? A piece of pure pretentiousness- Or worse yet, maybe not, But rather there to start a mess Of convoluted plot, So she followed the cues her well -known intuition sent, Declaring “I’ll show them all hell Who forged this incident”.
Through violence and terror She made foes tremble for ages, Ignoring every error As she smote through six long stages Of cards and signs and bullet balls, Of other painful things, Of girls who were transparent walls And wannabe god-kings, Of CG-animated halls And tiny girls with wings, Until at last she stood to face The foe that she had sought, Some asshole with no sense of pace Who hammered keys a lot, And tried to bash his head in To relieve her sleepless nights - Only to learn, to her chagrin That he wrote all the fights.
“I’ll tell you anyways,” he said, “Just what you sought to know, I’ll not torment you ‘til you’re dead-” -He told, rather than show - “To know why analysis failed, Just listen close to me- ‘Twas there to make the world detailed. The tree is just a tree.”