Now here's a little tale, dear child...
The Fairies by William Allingham
He wrote:

Up the airy mountain 
  Down the rushy glen, 
We dare n't go a-hunting, 
  For fear of little men; 

followed by a heap of boring verses.

Apart from that half-hearted attempt to rhyme lines 2 & 4, he didn't bother. 
 Neither will I.

Up comes Mary Bunting,
Sppeaks to brother Glen:
"I've tried to go a-hunting
The sausage with young men.

(Now that's a better rhyme.)

"I went down to the hamlet
And met the village people,
But found that not one lady
Would make them grow a steeple."

(And that's the fairy bit, so I can now go my own way.)

Brother Glen was furious,
Put her 'cross his knee,
Pulled up her skirt and down her drawers,
And slapped her cheeks with glee.

The slaps of brother's fingers
Sure made her buttocks dance,
But then she felt that something
Was a-growing in his pants.

She stopped her squealing, grabbed it,
They fell down in the straw
And that's why you're an imbecile,
They were your maw and paw.



You can find Allingham's blarney easily enough on the web if so inclined.

More poet bashing.

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Last updated: Sun, 2 Jun 2002.