All Fairyland is in the thrall
of drama. For (if you recall)
The makers of the Goblin Ball
Scheduled it to celebrate Fall…
…but all the seasons in Fairyland
Have gotten weird. It’s quite unplanned:
In a way we don’t yet understand,
The clock has gotten out of hand.
Let’s not worry about the date
Or the weather. Let’s say that Fate:
Decided, perhaps, before too late
To see if they might cooperate.
The Fairy Ball (a magical hash)
Was opposite the Great Goblin Bash
I’d bet an awful lot of cash
That the night would end in smoke and ash…
For (as you’d quite expect)
Each side felt it was more correct
And with no pause one could detect
Set about getting terribly wrecked.
Turns out the Goblin Ball did lack
Fairy cake (dessert and snack);
The Fairy Ball was likewise off track
For Goblin Mead would not come back…
Flying pies? Banana cream?
That would be a veritable dream
Compared to pies of meat, a-gleam
From being made with broiling steam.
There were no crossbows, no sharp knives
And most escaped with most of their lives
But, until help arrives
The phrase ‘food fight’ causes vast nosedives.
For a century, they’d all agreed
Not to fight wars; there was no need.
None of them existed; thus, why feed
A war machine that none ought heed?
…and now, a very small confession:
We might have been wrong in this expression
While ballroom dancing’s OUR obsession
Magic creatures want trophy possessions.
Oh, never will the chefs forget
How with cream and blood the floor was wet.
But it would be worse (to be realistic) –
At least the chefs are cannibalistic.
At least the Chefs know how to assist
Of humanoid recipes they’ve a long list
So that’s, at least, some recompense.
What an…interesting…coincidence.
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