Wizards and Warlocks; Sorcerers, Mages!
Adepts and Savants; wizened old Sages!
Over the hills they scurry in droves!
Over the dales they travel in rows!
A gorlöck, a fusswotz, two trogs and a rímple!
A muko, three pandrats, and twenty-eight gimples!
From what do they hurry? For what do they pine?
My heart harbors hopes that they be not malign!
In stillness I whimper, in fleetness they rove—
—my kettle, it boils! from its place on the stove!
In a bolt to brew Yorkshire my door remains open
And the fae (in their cunning) come suddenly lopin’!
With rushes and bounds and snickers of glee
The magic folk seat themselves; ready for tea
Imagine my shock, as a kind one should do,
When such magical creatures came into view!
“Two sugars!”, “No cream here“; “A side-dish of crumpets!”
My tray trembled slightly; I was tempted to dump it!
But something then swayed me; it was ever so subtle
It freed me and grew me; released me from fuddle.
“I’ll do just that, sirrah,” I said to the rímple,
An ear-to-ear grin revealing much dimple.
I had realized in dealing with mischievous fae,
One had to adopt their curious way.
This involved many smiles, pipe-smoke and tea,
which was really, quite truthfully, just fine with me,
As long as your crumpets went well with your brew,
the wizard-folk shared some small secrets with you.