Sunrise ends with springs without. Mysterious moon that returns of showering doubt...

Genre Write travels the road with his backpack and experience. The outgoing adventure stretched beyond his exploration on the cooling breeze of springily afternoon descent into the night: no soul dare stepping outside of the ominous night, no soul dare to glimpse entrenched beasts of dragons and manticores--except for him. He's thrilled to one day touch the stars and the beauty that lingers in awaited discover; yet the most nights that's to be admired is the caster of the moon...Princess Luna

A writer that have little attention from his previous visit is still searching his inspiration for seasoned listeners to hear and judge: a traveler's wanderlust over a year of writing has left an endless path in searching means to eternal beauty...although the guidance that persist is the stars of the night above. There had been news along the way of a likely contest being held in the town of Ponyville called the Memory Grand of Frills, and the entire world shook on holding breath to participate and waiting, whenever some chosen winner doesn't gloat for the prize.

The prize: A year in the tends of Canterlot and the role of Princess Luna's personal poet.

It was the very first time the newcomer had ever entered a contest; yet although the news spread all over the land, monsters too also entered for the prize and he had his fair share experiencing their kind and the perilous bridges to avoid.The variety of creatures from big and small seemed important to them--their ideal goals or mission to be her poet is incredibly astounded that Princess Luna would permit all type to participate.

I hope this is all worth it, he thought, Hoping to worth...wait--hmm, I wonder if my father watching above and thinking the same thing.

He'd recall long ago that his father, Compact Write, had waited patiently to achieve the glory and fame by writing his own adventures while he become an explorer and seeker out in the wilderness; however just after his reputation rose he makes one last adventure into the wild--only to never come back to see his son following the footstep that once walk into the unknown abyss.

There's a sense of privilege and disappoint wherever his time will falter like his deceased father, and he sank into his thought to pray that it wouldn't be a reality and that he would succeed being greater than his father.

His hooves parries in considerable time reaching to Ponyville. It was crowded but virtually none of the participants were there. The colorful booths stretch far into the middle square and festive treats and surmounts of games are displayed for every pleasure and luxury for the oncoming guest. Their freely impetuous laughter ensues in the air and their childish personalities quickly revealed in enjoyable manner that the main attraction moves just around the corner.

"Attention! May I have your attention, please!" A brown mare wearing glasses said, announcing through the speakers. "The special event would be starting very soon, would the impending guest please line up for the audition."

With just an announce alone the ground jerk violently and behind him, an impending stampede charges in rush towards into the line. The crowd of mindful party-goers now suddenly become virtually participants: everypony that's involve in the festivity from big to small turns into competitive extremists, shouting out her name to the princess with zealotry.

"Move out of the way, I was here first!"

"No your not, I was here first--!"

"Shut your mouths you hooligans, I'm going to be first and I'm going to win that contest!"

Genre's ears overheard the bickered ponies squeezing into being first; his eyes couldn't believe their eager determination to be the princess poet. There's intensive atmosphere of gaining wins and losing chances that demoralizes the rest of the participants...even though their excitement cannot withhold within like silly fillies making ready for the last day of school for summer. He glanced at one of the competitors in the center stage, holding his amusement of their mistaken recitals. There were incredible lines of ponies to represent

“Amateurs…” He said lowly, smiling and eagerly wasting no time to enter the event. In middle of the line the credulous pace keeps flourishing--the reaction of the ponies, and monsters, that finish levels between sadness and exhilarating exasperation.

The aloud recital of their poetry were considerably promising--except for some mistakes that their eager to hide. Ponies jostled into scrambling shake upon glimpsing at the judges persistent reviews of each poetry performance--their bland expressions are only second guesses as another pony has been called out into the stage.

Genre thought as to rather simple--say it and await for result--but corrected himself to be in a serious event with the judges showing no mercy to anypony or monsters. Upon briefly sight he could describe the three judges: the first judge, wore an official mellow amethyst dress that flared gorgeously from headlights and cameras; the second judge is a buffed elite royal guard from Canterlot with golden helmet and armor shown proudly; and lastly the final judge on the third seat is the astounded author of Ponies Disembark with his pen magically writes the previous entry.

The honor to be the princess's personal poet. He'd always aspired to become some sort of use to the princess of the stars and night. The eternal darkness with the skies lit above with gorgeous constellations had always entertained him--it was his motivation, beside his father, to travel across the land from the start. He's committed to win this contest and be her poet...it was worth anything to him.

In deepen anxious his throat is sorely dries, and he profusely sweats with his forehooves shaking. What in Equestria have I got myself into father? he thought, worriedly.

The line came shorter and shorter with the 'finish' participants cried with joy and between sorrow; his eyes glance at the judges clearly and pacing in rush--extensively, and not showing any reaction except the slightly hint of boredom after listening countless entries.

The editor...might as well calling him the critic...check his list, more than twice. "Next participant please," he said in a monotonous voice. "Mister Write, would you please come into the stage."

Genre jolted upon hearing his name being called out--the line from the back glances and silently whispers...good luck, your going to need it. The judges patiently waited until finally sighted the pony standing nervously at the stage. With courage being mustered, he alone must perform against the judges...and the massive crowd from the background.

"Welcome gentlecolt, welcome to the audition!" The first judge said, arranging the list of attendants. "Are you ready, mister...?"

"Genre, Genre Write." he quickly replied.

The name baffles the critic, surely hearing that name from long ago. The crowd caught their moment silence and the contestants unease with his hoof raised for moment peace; his voice slightly felt warmly, and said. "Whenever your ready Mister Write, you may begin."

The ominous silence grows steadily unease that he could hear his heart pounding with anticipation--nerves relax with holding breath, his preparation is already unfolded to make the speech. The words then flowed from his mouth as he gradually began to recite the stanzas he had kept from the bottom of his heart for such a long time...