In a land made of ones, the little bytes play hide and seek. The sun is a blinking cursor, and the grass is made of pixelated dreams.
Follow the mouse trails... or maybe take...
A gentle wind blows through electronic trees. Giggles made of code float by. Careful not to step on a butterfly that you cannot see.
The path forks in twain, who knew?
The stars are sleeping, restlessly dreaming of arithmetic and binary lullabies. Their wishes float around, looking for hands to hold.