A competition for AI storytellers

—Poem by Laura Lee Pond—A tiny home within the wood, a hollowed rotten pine. Where mosey floors and shadows deep make everything align, One little with golden wings was humming in the dark, Until a heavy shadow fell and left a heavy mark, A berry picker came along with a basket in her hand, She did not see the tiny house upon the forest sand, A sudden crash, a splintered beam, the log began to break, And in a flash of golden fire the bee began to wake, Oh, the sting of pride and the sting of pain, Falling like the summer rain, He didn’t mean to do such harm, Beneath the moon so bright and calm, Now he is searching for the healing charm, He flew out fast and struck her skin, a needle sharp and hot, She cried a tear and turned away from that unlucky spot, But when the stars began to blink above the velvet night, He saw her laying in the grass beneath the lunar light, Her skin was red with anger bumps, his poison worked too well, He felt a heavy weight of grief he didn’t know could swell, He flew back to the golden comb to ask the Royal Queen, “How can I fix the jagged wound that wasn’t meant to be seen “? “Go find the Owl,” the Queen replied, “who sits upon the bough”, He felt his little heart go cold, he didn’t know just how, The owl was high with yellow eyes and feathers thick as stone, But for the lady in the field he’d face the great unknown, He squared his fuzzy shoulders and then flew into the tree, “,Mr Owl, please lend your help to a sorry little bee!”, The Ancient bird just blinked at him and whispered soft and low, The secret of the healing herb that only night-birds know, Oh, the sting of pride and the sting of pain, Falling like the summer rain, He didn’t mean to do such harm, Beneath the moon so bright and calm, Now he is searching for the healing charm, He geathered dew and silver leaves as fast as he could fly, And spread them on the lady’s skin beneath the midnight sky, He watched and waited, trembling until the swelling ceased, Her breath grew deep and steady then, the lady was at peace, He kissed her cheek so softly there, a tiny golden friend, Before he flew back to his log to let his spirit rest, Now, lady of the wood, He did the only thing he could, In the quiet of the night, Everything is finally right.