Faeries are not all cute and innocent,
Like your people have suggested
for several hundreds of years.
We are not all female,
And harmless; with flowers for clothing
And cute, pointy ears.
We are not here for your amusement,
Or to do your bidding!
We are not about
Leaving dewdrops and sparkly dust.
Do not think you can control us…
We are not a race of beings you should trust…
At this point, to my surprise,
He pulled a small cigarette from somewhere…
(Within His breeches? Or by magic?)
And on cue, an armed dragonfly
zipped over to Him in a flurry of iridescent wings,
rubbed two legs together, and it lit.
‘Himself’ sighed and took a long draw….
Blew sweet smoke rings right in my face.
(UGH—I tried not to cough!)
“Your Highness,” I prompted
“What about the belief that Your people
Originate from the Emerald Isle?”
He raised a perfectly arched eyebrow,
Blew another puff of smoke at me,
My people reside in Ireland, to be sure—
We have a long and colorful history there.
We defeated the evil Formorians eons ago,
And Our seed flourished in that fertile land
We were masters—and mistresses—
Until the humans set foot on Our sand.
My people and yours lived in harmony;
We took from you what we desired,
And in return shared Our magicks.
But some power-mad of your kind conspired,
with men who thought themselves “holy”
And you know what then transpired…
//end of excerpt//