There are, after all, the rules of this world.

The lady who lived in a shoe, she knew the rules only too well.
When the night came, with her child in bed, she left her door ajar -
she let herself become the night, then the day.
She let herself into the ages.

The lady sat then on a star,
watching her child alone in the shoe,
the world was sad, as was she.

An evil monkey one day broke the rules of the other world,
descending onto the solitary child's world in a rage.
The child, she ran in fear,
away from the monkey,
so wicked and ugly in his way,
no quarter,
no compromise,
the child was to be taken in whole,
not in part.

The child ran,
across the desert floor,
through the China Town streets,
teeming and over flowing,
and finally to the forgotten forest -
with the evil monkey on her heels,
death's reminder, that it was never far behind.

‘How long can I run?’ the child cried, tired and at her end.
'No more,' a voice replied.
It was the lady.
She descended from her star with two swords.

From her world, into this one.

The monkey recoiled.
Small and petite as the lady was, is neither here nor there in this tale -

the monkey failed to match for her strength.
The monkey felt fear.
The swords plunged deep into his dark heart -
he fell in the forgotten forest,
his final resting place to be.

'Can you stay?' the child asked her mother, now safe from peril.
The lady said nothing in reply,
rising back up into the sky,
high above the trees,
to return to her star,
to return to her vigil.
She is still there today, and you will see her if you look hard.
There she shall remain.

There are, after all, the rules of this world.

'