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.”