In the land where never-comes reside,
Lived a figure, Gumby, in his stride,
A clay-formed hero, pliable and kind,
With a heart as sweet as plums entwined.
Deep within this dreamscape, so surreal,
Lived a fairy, with a secret zeal,
For plums, sugary and sense-awakening,
Hidden beneath the trees, shade-making.
Gumby, with his limbs of green and bend,
Took a journey, one might apprehend,
To find this fairy, of widdle waddle,
In a world where logic does not coddle.
He met her in a grove, under stars,
Where the night whispered its own memoirs,
Her wings, aflutter, like a soft breeze,
Brought to life the plums with ease.
Together, they danced in moonlit glow,
In a land where dreams freely flow,
Where choices were as plums, ripe to choose,
And each decision a path to muse.
But as with all tales of fantasy,
There's a twist in the sweet reverie,
For Gumby learned that life's delight,
Comes from moments both dark and bright.
So in this dance of clay and fairy light,
Gumby found a truth in the night,
That choices lead us to where we're meant,
In lands of plums and dreams unspent.
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