I shall tell you about Fedora next,
Nothing there was constant, valley or the crest.
I stood there, in a narrow lane,
At one point experiencing sun, snow and rain.
Illusional, I could call the city
Or delusional, myself.
Then I happened to meet the globes,
Alone in an empty room, through their lens.
The city veiled in mystery, started to make sense,
A finicky, aged prince, who altered,
Very frequently his long robes,
Every change being painted and framed.