Nestled in a fertile little valley
Over their borough they had constructed
The outside had not fared so well
And so as the Fialee’s frolicked
He stared at the rusted roof
He rode into town, then started to speak,
“But, how can that be,
“Risten to me!”, He said.
“But how is that possible?
“I’ll send for my brother,
“Wait!”, cried a single voice
“Our roof has become rusted
“We’ve frolicked too long I fear
But the crowd would not listen
The strange Mandarin grinned more as he spoke,
Then slowly he turned
When the awakened the following morn
And so the brothers Wong
Their village had been saved
Did they live happily ever after?
The Fialees hung their heads in shame,
Is there a moral to this silly tale?
There was a make believe land called Fial,
Where a make believe people did exist
With nothing to do but smile.
Their village was so bright and clean,
And though for sure they do exist
Dark clouds there were never seen.
A metallic protective shroud.
Painted on the inside to provide fair skies
Of which they were so proud.
As pelted by the wind and rain
The metallic shroud had thus so tarnished
As to never shine again.
Under perpetual sunny skies
A lone figure approached upon an ass
With goateed chin and slanted eyes.
And slowly broadened his grin
As he observed the carefree people
Who foolishly frolicked within.
“Halt, you razy fools, and pay heed!”
They recoiled in horror as on he spoke.
“Your roof is rusted and repair is in need.”
The sky is so blue?”
“Rook again! Onry the paint remains.
The rest is rusted clear through!”
“All is not rost!”
“My brother and I can fix your roof
Now all that is left is the cost!”
How can this be done?”
Their eyes stared up in horror;
Their voices rang out as one.
And when he arrive
With a can of white paint
Your roof reel revive!”
“Before all becomes lost.
Save our eroded shroud
Whatever be the cost.”
From somewhere in the crowd.
This cannot be possible.
A coat of paint can’t save our shroud!”
Because we’ve grown soft and lazy,
But to paint over that rust now
Would not only be lazy, but crazy!”
Now we must toil
Let’s rebuild our cherished dome
Lest it crumble to the soil.”
To these words that made sense.
As they agreed to a price that
They’d pay for from that day hence.
My name is Tyme Wong; my brother is Turne.
Reel paint your dome white
When tomorrow we return!”
And rode off in a trot
As the Fialees return to frolic
As if cares they had not.
The Fialees were greeted with an amazing sight.
The Mandarin pair had since returned;
The dome restored to a gleaming white.
Collected their healthy fee,
And rode off into the sunset
The Fialees filled with glee.
And what a beautiful sight.
Inside blue skies and sunshine;
Outside a gleaming white.
That’s not how the fortune cookie crumbles!
For soon the dome began to peel, then leak
And then did steadily tumble.
And in every direction scattered.
For though they had lost their gold
It was their pride that really mattered.
Can we learn from the Fialee’s plight?
You can take the Wong, Turne, at the Wong, Tyme,
Bur two Wongs can’t make it white!”
