There was once an Open Thread
who on the solar winds did tread,
who thought he could outrace the sun,
but then the Moon eclipsed his fun.
“The sun! The sun!” the Thread did cry,
and then with anger in his eyes,
he dared the foolish Moon to try
to take from him what he had wrought.
The Thread flew towards the moon with rage
to unleash what it sought to cage,
and through the smoke he bravely fought.
But fight the Moon? Could it be done?
Could the Thread regain the fun?
With his magic ice cream stick,
he fought the Moon. He bound it quick.
He cleaned it's clock, he stole it's soul,
he hit it with a parasol.
But then the Thread did come to see
the sunny fun he longed to free
was buried deep within the Moon,
trapped inside a lunar tomb.
Beside the pole, he sat and wept.
He didn't eat. He barely slept.
But at that time, out of the blue,
the Open Thread came face to face
with what can only be a case
of hyperbolic déjà vu.
Another Open Thread doth came,
flying in on wings of flame.
“Dear Thread,” the slick imposter purred,
“You've no idea the wrath incurred
by you against the Threads of Doom,
who get our fun out of the Moon.”
How could a Thread of any kind
have such an idiotic mind
to try to get fun from the Moon?
Explained within this ancient tune:
“Whosoever tries to take
from out the Moon the fun it makes,
shall know the Suffering of Leitin,
Master of the Art of Fightin'.”
“You fool!” the other Thread presumed.
“That ancient tune, it's text resumes!”
“But Leitin was a wise old man
who grasped the need to make a plan
to transfer from within his span
his power over fighting ham.
“He grabbed a Thread, an then the fun.
he took them both and from them spun
the greatest fun-Thread ever done.
“He took that fun-Thread to the Moon,
and then he wrote this ancient tune,
and thus began the Thread of Doom.”
So it would seem this strange pretender
was the Doom Threads' message sender.
A twist of fate with just one meaning-
this doom-Thread's clock was due a cleaning.
Grabbing fast his ice cream stick,
the Open Thread jumped up so quick
he hit the sender's glassy jaw,
who stood there with his gaping maw.
“How dare you dumb-Thread try to challenge
one of Leitin's greatest Threads!
I'll use my power over hammage
to make you fool-Thead meet your end!”
From out the doom-Thread ham of fire,
blazing with the glaze of honey,
came barreling toward the Open Thread,
its deadly nature oh so yummy.
To which the Open Thread replied,
again with fire in his eyes,
by throwing forth the ice cream stick,
devoid of ice cream, yes, but quick.
The Moon, the sun, where went the fun?
For when the Threads had ceased their duel,
they saw that life itself is cruel.
For where the sun and moon once sat,
there was Leitin, and surly at that.
“You Threads have failed my cosmic test.
You Threads are lines, I justly jest!
I spent ten years to find the best
but now I see you're like the rest!”
With shoes that shone as if with lightning,
off he ran, the Master of Fighting.
He left the Threads in disrepair,
glad they were finally out of his hair.
For years thereafter, across the sky,
the Open Thread and doom-Thread try
to find the fun that was their kin,
trapped forever on solar winds.