Once upon… it was said by a fairy tale,
There lived a boy who had a hairy tail.
It wasn’t at all a misbecoming feature,
Only he was a lil woodland creature.
He was a lil faun, living among men,
Doubtlessly, he differed from them.
With a pail face and brown hairy chest,
His smiling eyes owned berryness.
Our nameless satyr was always jolly,
Was always thinking of some folly.
He was always jingling stupid riddles,
But he was alone with his giggles.
“Who doesn’t like the lilly-little,
Will never deserve any bibi-bigger.
I used to like my little hooves,
Why my butt deserves the boots?”
Being the little victim of our yarn,
He spent his whole life around the barn.
He was the famous hero of the hay,
Everyone giggled seeing his own ballet.
His whole life went to a disaster,
Due to the daughter of his master.
The noble princess played a role,
Playing with the poor creature’s soul.
She, without her father’s knowing,
Visited the faun as they were growing.
Scarcely was her reason intimate,
Whereas, she had been his only mate.
The folly faun had none to follow,
Only the girl been mean and hollow.
The whole court knew their secret,
That the mistress had a hairy pigglet.
Once, in the highlight of the noble mass,
The faunny guy made a confess.
He aimed the king of the great palace:
“Oh crowny daddy and other fellas..”
“I am serious for the first time;
My heart hurts as a wound from the lime.
I have found the mate of my life,
The faith has written you as my wife!”
The poor fellow aimed the girl with a rose,
From the mass a huge laugther arose.
“Don’t be so mad, dear daddy of the crown,
Your daughter will make happy this faun.”
The mass kept joking on this scene,
And the royal members’ silent scream.
“Don’t be so shocked, noble castle,
The palace will be stabled by this cattle.”
Here, the guards caught the creature,
With sharp words on his feature.
The king angrily ordered to exile for that,
But the princess cried for his death.
Since the sun was already going down,
They sent him to the prison of the town.
Tomorrow will surely bring a solution,
Even if it’s the poor creature’s execution.
Is this the unhappy end of our riddle,
An execution under a sad song of a fiddle?
Or maybe the prison hid another page,
Like a magical transformation of a mage?
Our satyr could turn into a prince,
Marrying the girl, being happy ever since.
Or he could escape from the cells,
Finding joy in drinks, drugs and belles.
But he only wanted to wait the morrow,
By the guillotine ceasing his sorrow.
The only thought he had, he had to die,
Then, he saw a lonely butterfly.
A joyful song was sung by the moth;
However, it had not even mouth:
“You are a noble satyr, not a stranger,
Your home and love is the nature.”
By the words, our hero woke up: “Yay!”
“I won’t be her husband, nor fiancé!
I am a free faun who needs no brides!”
And the man ran into the wilds…
The wedding guests – without being rude –
Asked: “why the groom ran away nude?”
“Why he is flirting with every single tree,
Answering nature’s call while we see…”
He was singing a stupid song, having fun:
“I will be only the nature’s funny fan,
No more problems of marrying my love,
When my beloved is merely a dove!”