It was only a tiny village then
Away from the thoroughfare,
Had existed since I don’t know when
With a grassy village square,
There were only seven ancient cars
In the narrow village streets,
And none of them travelled very far
For the shop stocked milk, and treats.

It hadn’t seen much of progress since
The days of old King John,
Who’d lost his jewels in The Wash, by Mintz
Near the town of Oberon,
The villagers there were set in ways
That caused nobody harm,
But when Lars came from Oberon
There was cause to feel alarm.

For Lars was the local planner for
The town of Oberon,
He’d dragged it kicking and screaming
Into the century just gone,
He’d widened streets, and cancelled Meets
In the old stone Mason’s Hall,
By bulldozing their building, leaving
Folk with a low stone wall.

He’d passed it all with an ordinance
That had given him total power,
The council caved to his arrogance,
All that he did was glower,
He put street lights on the corners, and
He acted like a prince,
And when he was done with Oberon
He set his sights on Mintz.

He drove on down to their village square
And he said it wouldn’t do,
He’d turn the square to a thoroughfare
So the cars could drive right through,
He didn’t care when the people there
Said ‘Leave our square alone!’
He said, ‘I’m passing an ordinance,
So you might as well go home.’

The local hall was agog that night
There’d never been such a crowd,
The villagers all were up in arms,
‘This fool shouldn’t be allowed!’
‘This calls for a special meeting,’ said
The spokesman, Rupert Bragg,
‘We’ll have to call on the village witch,
The widow, Nancy Stag!’

They all poured out of the village hall
And they went to see the witch,
Who was busily mixing potions in
A cauldron and a dish,
‘You’ll not be needing my magic,’ said
Old Nancy, with a smile,
‘If you all agree with my plan, you’ll see,
That Lars will run a mile.’

She asked the women to stay behind
While the men went on their way,
‘I mean the ones over seventy,
The rest can go or stay,’
They huddled up with the village witch
And applauded Nancy’s plan,
‘We’ll send him scuttling off from Mintz,
You’ll see, he’s only a man!’

When Lars came down in his private car
They met him in the square,
Holding banners and placards, but
That’s not what made him stare,
‘You’d better get back to Oberon
Or we’ll march there, for our rights,’
He turned, and hurriedly left the square,
They all were dressed in tights!’

David Lewis Paget

Of all the kings
Bear him to mind
Eternal ruler of these
Riches, magic, and wine
Of fairies and song
Now praise Oberon

Doubt no more that Oberon—
Never doubt that Pan
Lived, and played a reed, and ran
After nymphs in a dark forest,
In the merry, credulous days,—
Lived, and led a fairy band
Over the indulgent land!
Ah, for in this dourest, sorest
Age man’s eye has looked upon,
Death to fauns and death to fays,
Still the dog-wood dares to raise—
Healthy tree, with trunk and root—
Ivory bowls that bear no fruit,
And the starlings and the jays—
Birds that cannot even sing—
Dare to come again in spring!

The maiden so fair
In all her grace
The gold leaf in her hair
And snow pedaled face
Night and day we sing
In elegant song
A rhyme to our queen

      And look Oberon!!!!!

The child alone a poet is:
Spring and Fairyland are his.
Truth and Reason show but dim,
And all’s poetry with him.
Rhyme and music flow in plenty
For the lad of one-and-twenty,
But Spring for him is no more now
Than daisies to a munching cow;
Just a cheery pleasant season,
Daisy buds to live at ease on.
He’s forgotten how he smiled
And shrieked at snowdrops when a child,
Or wept one evening secretly
For April’s glorious misery.
Wisdom made him old and wary
Banishing the Lords of Faery.
Wisdom made a breach and battered
Babylon to bits: she scattered
To the hedges and ditches
All our nursery gnomes and witches.
Lob and Puck, poor frantic elves,
Drag their treasures from the shelves.
Jack the Giant-killer’s gone,
Mother Goose and Oberon,
Bluebeard and King Solomon.
Robin, and Red Riding Hood
Take together to the wood,
And Sir Galahad lies hid
In a cave with Captain Kidd.
None of all the magic hosts,
None remain but a few ghosts
Of timorous heart, to linger on
Weeping for lost Babylon.

The Mockery of Fairyland


In silence watching, as fellow, fallow fairies dance,
Sylphs float above while gnomes furrow,
Donating water brothers.
Undine.
Spiritual creatures, unseen.
Creation of nature from nature.
Mankind evading.
Those fairies will still catch your eye,
In form of genus butterfly.


God forbid you meet them.
Stumble on their fairy rings.
You should never ever tell a fairy your name.
For in fairyland you may remain.

For safety's sake.
While you're out walking in the woods.
Inside out, you must wear your shirt,
Wear a ring of of iron!
So you can breach the fairies curse.
For in seven year cycles.
Fairies must donate to hell.
A good soul,Tam Hin.
Because he tricked the fairy queen.
She had to set him free.

Ti's said.
As man folk mate.
Fairies do true procreate.
In a way akin to ours!
Hybrid fairies once existed.
They were such melancholy souls.
Far too sad to live in fairyland.
Too fairy like to live on earth!

Titania she still sits waiting patiently.
For her Oberon to arrive.
King and queen of fairyland, in literacy.
Supreme?
No Fallacy!
By ladylivvi1

"You're the Ariel to my Prospero"
He says grinning
with dagger pearl teeth
that could nibble my ear
or easily rip out my heart.

Ignorant of his mundanity
He does not know of those
who came before.
Names are relative.
"You're the Puck to my Oberon"
"You're the Tink to my Peter Pan"
Heard 'em all.
Plight of the Manic Pixie
Not Dream Girl.

Charming Sassy Childish
girl.
Sidekick Extraordinaire.
But lower than Robin to his Batman.
Messenger, Trickster, Mischief Maker.
Companion.
Adventurer.
with a temper ten times his size.
A power unnamed. Unused.
Never Enough.

Never enough
to Want to challenge her master.
ProsperoOberonPeter

I will drink the poison for you.
I will sink the ship.
I will find the ****** flower
and enchant the Fairy queen.
Follow orders, then twist them.
With some glittler and a devilish smile.

Crazy Tiny
girl.
Too pixie to hold on to
Catch me Boy!
Alreadycaughtnoneedtocatch.

Little ****** Manic Pixie
Yearning for a kiss
a touch
a word.

When you're a manic pixie
there's no trio
no male sidekick to choose
over
the hero.
But the hero gets the girl.
Manic Pixies live to serve.

Not dignified or wise enough for Royal Athena.
Not ruthless enough for the Dangerous Diana.
Without the darkness of the Morrigan.
Virginity isn't a choice.
It's part of the job description.

Could I be your ladybird?

Stage lights burn out.
I am left agog.
Eyes drop
incredulously
as what I saw before me
was very restoring.

A story of humanity,
a Shakespearian epic,
a turbulent tempest
that hit me with
the fierceness of Hamlet.

As Othello’s hands
wrapped around
his beloved neck,
as Thibault killed Mercutio
As Ariel and Puck
played their trickster games,
as Prospero planned,
and Oberon dawned
his elvish Armor,
as Titania loved an ***
and saw false love pass;

As the thorny crown
of King Richard passed
then passed again
whilst he ruminated
nearly naked in a cell of
dirt and stone, alone,
halfway mad before
he made it there.

As Caesar bled
betrayed by Brutus
in the Ides of March,

I await more wonders
for Shakespeare
has so much more
I have yet to get to.

I am descended
from that poet’s heart.
who passed down his purchased arms
of false nobility
to become a man of property
not knowing his plays
would make him greater
than any noble man of his day.

After all the pleasure
I sit in awe and ponder,
what if he had the eyes to see
what faces us presently
would he wonder at the cleverness of us
or cower at the current level
of our stupidity?

I am the pride in Oberon’s Love-lorn
Crown and the bleeding in Hamlet’s voice.

Its the taste of iron in my wounded

throat that reminds me: I am not

a cow, dog, flower or forest.

That my **humanity

Who has to die a little

just to know itself

will one day choke me

until the blue in my face

resembles the blue around

Your veteran eye

Or the blue around the Albatross’ sky

moments before she died

in spite of those who loved her

Who shed tears like silver coins

buying a shard of happiness

to use as a nail that could

Crucify our grieving souls, but

corpses still cast shadows

even after you lick your thumb

to silence the sun like a wick.

Beautiful dying,
Silent, Chill is crying.
Oranges, reds, yellow.
Fire above falls below.
Naked swaying whispering,
Spider’s fingers whistling.
When their white, bones rattled in breeze,
‘Fore at last, comes in the freeze.
Cold sprinkling down,
Cold blankets around.
Covers Chill so binding.
White and blinding
Sleep, Chill, it’s the end.
Darkness in the dead.
And now behold,
Autumn runs from Cold.

Heavy, deep,
Nearly endless sleep.
Cold’s solid slumber,
Renew the green wonder.
Poking up their heads,
From their icy beds.
Open colored eyes,
Extending luring lies.
Bees come in as,
Trees shake away Cold who has,
Retreated to his hiding place.
Now, Warm dances on new leaves with grace.
Breathing spirit and fresh life,
Banishing winter’s strife.

Fresh is never stale,
‘Cuz in comes Hot’s gale.
Humid, parching,
Hot is smothering.
Warm is withering,
Fire hearts a fluttering.
Sun toasts skin,
Cold’s fraternal twin.
Trees turn Oberon green,
But lack the Faire’s mean.
He melts a cool thought,
One of any you have brought.
Spring is dried of a tear,

He wakes at first dawn,
Exposed in the growing fawn.
But falling weaker every day,
Loosing strength in the morning gray.
Chill bites Hot’s back turned,
Leaves change, set to be burned.
She comes back around
*Time passes without a sound
The beauty of the life of men?
All will come, and die again.

Oberon stands by;
     summer is asleep.
Puck reclines, lethargic eyes,
     wildflowers threaded
through his coarse, nether hair.

“I want to be the Jim to your Pam,” he says.

And it makes you want to smile.
the way nostalgia makes you want to smile, the way
you smile when you watch that Star Trek episode, you have
seen it a thousand times but man,
those Tribbles sure are Trouble.

So you take the stairs two at a time you
sit on that twin bed, you put your feet up,
your toes under the covers because this was almost home once;
this was safe silence of late nights without much conversation,
of finding you knew the same words to the same songs
of always having a toothbrush and a t-shirt in the car.

this was a band-aid and a bottle of Oberon
when you skinned your knee on that “shortcut” home from the bar.

and he laughs and he says “just make yourself comfortable.”
and despite all the years and the lies you almost
Do.

Chapter II

A wreath of passionate fire encircles a face of pure light,

A being, framed by strong shoulders and chest, with gentle hands.

Flames from within that flicker and dance

with a deep glow, spilling forth happiness from the soulful orbs

of his eyes that shine bright like the sun, in spite of the darkness of night.

Mischievous and joyful as a Midsummer Goodfellow.
And yet...
If not for the solid purpose in each step, easily he could be Oberon.

Two sides of a coin.

Fully alight, there is no stopping the energy that pours forth...

From his entire being.

All around are consumed by his love.
All around are enveloped in his luminescence.
All around are enamored by his beautiful soul.

It is enchanting to watch.

……How do I know?
Because I died…and he brought me back..
He gave me new life and now…

My heart beats in rhythm with his.

A shared heart-song.
We are one. An unbreakable embrace.
There was a time....Once..when I danced alone…

Then he found me. And now I am home.

When the last blood is spilled,
when the last champion falls,
when the last hero dies,
that is when Death calls.

This fight is not over,
our war will be won.
Our will is unmatched
until the last bard has sung.

Oberon has summoned us.
Our quest is absolute,
our destiny is decided,
and our fate, we cannot dispute.

Follow me Brothers, Sisters,
walk with me into the fire.
Our choices are to fail,
or see our enemies on a pyre.

Inspired from la bella notte,
She shall be wed.
Look at her not,
Budding blossom.
Gardenia encounters her majesty
And wears herself upon her majesty’s crown.
Queen of royals where she belongs,
O’er the death of them all
Sing, Oberon, sing
Shallow eyes nay be prepared
Thy future shall quiver
In the deep eyes of the siren’s iron gaze.
Close thy naivety,
Shut the gates.
Another tomorrow awaits.
Do not look at the Queen.
Do not wait for fate.
The Queen of the Night approaches,
The Queen of the Night too late.
Gardenia, flower, return to the earth.
Remain, and be noble,
As her majesty’s rebirth.

One morning after interrogations
and permitted rest, a training day warning:
Objects look bigger than they appear.

Gunshot was fired again.
Along with flair and sentiments in fancy frames.

She was told to stand-up again
and He was told to run for his life as far as he can.
He was shot dead after a few feet.
She was let go only to allow trackers
to find the others.

Facing seducing blades and machines
in lines of neon relief, we bury in a hurry
forsaken selves.

She shakes cold under someone's embrace,
wonders about how staying together
may also be just another lie.

Sharpening blades tonight,
Oberon and the Moon covers a skeleton.

By sunrise, the towers are unmanned,
chasing and hide-and-seeks.
A survival meeting that never existed.
A radio singing while someone works and eats.

From dreams to sleep she drifts between,
Where visions dance of what has been,
In symbols marked by fates decree,
What strange things will she see?

Visions of old, or something new?
Connected thoughts of me and you?
Under light of lonely moon,
Bathed in pale and longing hue.

Or maybe wild chaotic fun?
Dancing with fairies to belief of none,
Perhaps there she’ll meet a king,
Both proud and twisted, a scheming thing.

And there they strike a bargain deal,
To a baser nature will he appeal,
To make a star of boring youth,
And place her next to lonely moon.

All to wish that she had not,
As lovely dreams are all but lost,
And in their place a nightmare state,
As startled sound jolts her to wake.

For hours there she longs and yearns,
For land of dreams to please return,
She thinks of him, the fairy king,
And casts aside the suffering,

Surely it was only dream,
You can’t make real a mythic thing,
Hours pass and she ventures back,
To the wonder of a dancing pack.

Around a throne of golden trim,
They make a play at behest of him,
They pause at her, but carry on.
For none dare cross great Oberon.

She takes a step and suddenly,
From behind a curtain she bounds and leaps.
“Great fairy king, ‘tis I you seek,
For a hand in marriage I offer thee.”

As if compelled she speaks the words,
With puzzled look as they are heard,
And walks onto the center stage,
As other actors seemed to fade.

All at once both there and gone,
Appears the great king Oberon,
To take her hand and lead away,
As per the deal that there was made.

An instant passed and there they were,
Amongst the stars above the earth,
And with a smile the king declared,
“Let no one say I am not fair.”

She cried in fear and looked around,
But from her lips there came no sound,
Too late she saw what she’d become,
A star opposed to glowing sun.

All to wish that she was not,
As lovely dreams had all been lost,
And in their place a nightmare state,
As startled sound jolts her to wake.

She looked up then towards the sky,
To catch a twinkling in her eye,
A lone star she’d never seen,
Had taken place where none had been.

For hours there she longed and yearned,
For land of dreams to please return,
She thought of him, the fairy king,
But cast aside her suffering,

Surely it was only dream?
You can’t make real a mythic thing!
Hours pass and she ventures back,
To the wonder of a dancing pack.

Secretly, Titania, and Oberon
Had cast a magical spell
The guests were despatched
To a strange Dingly Dell
Their eyes changed colour
And they all grew wings
And flew around in circles
Doing all sorts of things
Some crashed into each other
Some crashed to the ground
Others flew into trees
Some sang silly sounds
Many got dizzy
And a couple were ill
And when they woke up next morning
They were perched upon my window sill
I beckoned them in
To tell me their tales
But none could remember
Because of the spells!
by Jemia

Context and trust go hand in hand. If I tell you some stout men walked out of a bar, you'll understand that they're probably drunk. If I tell you they then walked into your house, you will be concerned, and then stop reading, or at least stop believing the things I say. And, understandably, you will be disillusioned with my tricks when I begin a story with an unexplained pronoun. But the fact of the matter is: the spaces between my words will not be a silence you abide. People have a tendency to fill in the gaps.

She held out one hand, her left, cupped firmly, fingers together, bound and tense. A tiny, prickly-cold ball of teal sparks bounced up and down, remarkably slowly, lying about gravity. She could feel each orphaned spark dissipate coolly on her skin. With her right, she squished the man's fingers together, then curled her hand around his, forcing it into the tight shape of her left. Curious townsfolk pointed excitedly at the hopping magic in her hand as they passed, walking from booth to booth.

It had been six years since Maria had felt so anxious, and even back then it was only half. She knew it would come today, in great waves. Rhythms of merry-making divided by chasms of trepidation, legato, slow-moving and dreadful. Her spine hurt, as though she had spent the previous day lifting boxes of reagents for her show at the end of the Midsummer Festival. Well, she had, but she knew how to lift; she was a responsible person, and knew proper form. Rather, her muscles were tight with nerves. She worried she might remember. With today's celebration all around her, the past was so near.

"Make sure you hold tense, all the way up through your wrist. If you give this unruly stuff any chance to hurt you, it will." She demonstrated, moving her left hand around rigid, and the spark-ball followed. She had a stern look on her face. "But it's fun as long as you're safe. Are you ready?"

He nodded. He must've been thirty, but he had clearly never gotten a chance to be a part of the magic before. His awestruck silence gave her a smirk.

She moved her left hand over his tensed right hand, then quickly snatched it back to her side, leaving the spark-ball floating above his slightly quavering fingers like a tablecloth trick. It bounced there, in his hand, just as it had for her. His face was concentrated deeply, brows clambering to touch but blocked by a pudgy wrinkle between. And yet his sense of wonder was somehow still clear, visible in the corners of his eyes, so Maria allowed herself a full-blown smile.

It was context that left that moment bittersweet for Maria. She would get it right this time.

She pulled at the head of her paper belt, a machination that often caught the eye of village children. The belt lapped her just above her hips several times, terminating in an odd box, something between a belt buckle and a mouse trap. As she pulled at the lapped belt, the latch cranked back, and then snapped down, tearing off a piece with a small wooden bead upon it. It was like a reel of button candies turned witch's tool.

Maria concentrated, rubbed her thumb across the wood, and it gave way to another playful sphere of light. She repeated her process, handing out a few more of these to those passersby she could convince herself she had taught to be safe.

One child had found it funny to spread her hand open suddenly just before Maria could give her the spark-ball. Maria glared the sphere into shattering spectacularly, sending sparks everywhere and seeming very dangerous. Of course, she would never have hurt the child, but when the girl ran off to her mother, Maria felt the smugness of the worst sort of teacher.

The horizon had just been kissed by the setting sun when she realized the time. She tried her best to steel herself and walked towards the weathered stage.

As she walked up the stairs and onto the stage, she looked out at the crowd. There was a sense of rurality that she hoped would be welcoming. The hearts of hard work preferred consistency to splendor, and she knew it. But she had worked so hard for this moment.

Behind her, the stage set was covered in trinkets. Ivy and moss draped over the drapery. A few stagehands rustled around behind the brown, musty curtains, occasionally sliding an open tome out into view, or rolling a small cart covered in lit candles out. None of these props were necessary, per se, but she knew her fellow performers had a penchant for the dramatic, so she wanted to impress them when they arrived. If they arrived.

Her back tightened and she could feel all the iron in her chest and arms. She could see shadows, fickle for sight, wisping at the outskirts of the celebration, teeming up from the earth and out from the forest on the outskirts of town. Please, help me, she whispered in her mind, knowing it was just for her own keeping calm. The motion behind the curtain grew quiet, and she knew things were ready. She swallowed.

"Good evening and good eats, my good folk! And what a festival it has been! For all of the wonderful people who were out in booths today, selling delectable treats and delightful trinkets they made themselves, can I get a round of applause?" She paused, and the crowd obeyed. Everyone likes to pat themselves on the back.

"Excellent, excellent," Maria said, nodding, her practiced smile radiant. "You know, before we start I just want to say: it's truly been a pleasure to share experiences with you all these last six years. I know I'm not always out and about at parties and the like, but your hospitality has been a beacon of light for me through a tough time. I want you all to know that. So, another round of applause, for being so amazing!"

She smiled and looked down at her feet for a moment, and as she did, she allowed herself to grit her teeth. She was suddenly chillingly aware of the danger she had gathered for her fellow citizens. This can't go wrong, she repeated in her mind, as she had been for weeks leading up to this day, to this show. She was sweating. She had to trust in her thoroughly proofread calculations, and the goodwill she had accrued with the fae near town in the last few years. Everything had been set up perfectly. It had to be.

And so she was smiling out at the crowd again when she flipped a switch on the dispenser head on her belt. "Now! Allow me to deliver to you all the display of a lifetime! Tonight, feast your eyes, ears, and hearts on the Parade of the Star Witch!" She grabbed the end of her belt and slung her hand out, casting the reel of paper out over the audience, and she left her hand there, gently grazing her thumb over each button as it passed.

She had cleared the first objective perfectly, but she didn't relax.

No fewer than twenty huge spark-***** shot wildly up into the air off the paper, directly overhead of many villagers, leaving wide, bright tails of blues and purples as they went. They hovered in place at the top of their range, blasting out light in unpredictable rhythm. It was loud. Children caught and argued over the used launch paper as it fell.

Maria stepped back with one foot and snapped. The candles on the table behind her roared into irresponsibly and unbelievably tall flames, instantly shifting from orange to varying cool colors. The scents of lavender and anise washed over the performance. The entire standing space of the stage lit up a deep green with the intricate details of a spell circle. She manually triggered the latch on her dispenser head, severing the paper, and snatched one last button into her hand. It was time for the second stage.

She turned and spun gracefully into the center of the circle, her dark sundress taking the light of the stage and the still-hovering spectacle above moodily. She put her hands together, and the wind began to swirl fiercely, and as it grew shadows eked out into the fading sunset, upright and physical, on either side of her. They lashed around rapidly, plentiful and playful, but seemed unguided by the sudden gusts.

She felt a sudden, sharp pain behind her eyes. One of her traps must have triggered backstage. Whoever it was had come too careless, and too late. No one could stop this now, not this time. It was finally going to happen right.

She raised her left hand up into the twilight sky, that last single button rising into the sky to be the biggest sparkler yet, in the shape of a massive star. Everyone would remember who brought them the joy of this night for years.

The shadows suddenly grew rigid, and then hands reached out of each, and the parade began in earnest.

Fae poured out of each shadow-portal in a march, walked off the stage, and continued out, stepping up into the air over the stunned crowd. They wove their own path through the air, finding a beat that affronted in theory but pleased in practice. They were of inconsistent shape and size, not just between individuals, but between moments. It was difficult to pin your eyes on any feature they had, but it was harder still to find them anything but dazzlingly beautiful. If the denizens of the town were impressed by the lightshow, they were rapt now.

Some of the fae reached down and pulled an audience member up to them, dragging them into the march. Those left on the ground blossomed with envy.

Now, at last, Maria relaxed. The props had been enough. Her work had been enough. Her "fellow performers" had accepted her offerings, and tonight the town would fall away from the cruelties of reason and time, and into something delightful, eternal, and fun.

There was -- to describe it as a sudden turn gives the suggestion that this eventuality was not certain. But it was abrupt, as more people were pulled up into the parade. Kissing spread like wildfire across the skywalking troupe. Some townspeople seemed uncomfortable. Some followed suit. But no one ran.

The town had left the world. The people would be swallowed up by the fae, or become them, or both, and the night would soak in revelry ad infinitum.

It was context and trust that always misguided the prey of the Town-Eater Witch.

A crackle before her, a gemstone green and deep, borne of Oberon. She collected her payment with a hand still shaky with adrenaline, and then she was the wind, and then she was gone. But the sparks remained.

Wandering through a small forest
I came across an old gnarled tree
As i drew even closer
It had a doorway i could see
It was all wonky, and misshapen
My curiosity took control
As i pushed it wide open
It swallowed me whole
I was ****** into a world of cats
Some were flying, some sound asleep
And others were simply walking around
With purrings so very deep
Others gently brushed my legs
Guiding me  like that
Leading me to another cat
Which was sat upon a mat
This cat then spoke to me
Saying "i purr therefore i Siam!"
For i was on an journey
To discover who i am
The talking cat flew away
And left me to my own devices
I was guided to a plain looking door
Behind which lay more surprises.
I then entered a new world
All black, and white, and grey
Walking along on a white footpath
With blackening trees all asway
I meet an elderly lady
Who speaks to me in grey
She told me to remember
not all is as it appears
She then turns into a wailing ghost
Then suddenly disappears
I wandered further, along this curious route
To see where it would lead
Just ahead, i saw a door
a door of shining gold indeed
i knocked three times on this one
As i felt not so bold
A voice came through, and said enter
I did, as i was told
And entered a wonderful palace
Where all was covered in a golden braid
Within i was greeted with much hype
By pixies, fairies, and love
All playing harps, and flutish pan pipes
And Titania, and Oberon, flew down from above
The King, and his beautiful queen
Both spoke to me together
You've three doors of love to enter yet
Or you'll lose your love forever
Just a simple choice you need to make
To find the one you adore
When you soon leave this world
You must walk through the right door
There was a flash of light
And i was in the same woods where i'd started
and came facing three doors, but did they mean the right door, or the door on the right?
by Jemia

Invite to the Wild Fairy Ball
Hosts Titania and Oberon, hear our call
Welcome, welcome, welcome one, and all
You are duly invited, to attend our ball
Where Fairies, and Elves, and Pixies will dance
And lovers will meet, for a little romance
Where tables are set, full of food and red wine
And musical harps, and lyres, will offer sublime
And owls, and foxes, cats, and hares
Will dance the dance Fandango, with a magical flare
Pan will enchant you, with his pipes all afire
All will dance, around the flames of desire
And Unicorns will gallop, and Trolls will groan
Welcome one and all, to the twilight zone
Try not to turtle, smurtle, fret, or fottle
There is no need, to bring a bottle!
by Jemia