Anthony Di'anno (North Yorkshire)
The Faerie Carriage
Fashioned from a highly polished dark red cherry,
With two wheels made from crystal dusted spider webs,
It was being pulled by four pairs of fireflies in a hurry,
Ferrying faeries home to their soft petal'd beds.
The coachman was a bright green cricket,
Who wore a long white coat of finest lace,
Hurtling along the thicket,
A great big smile lit upon his face.
For inside sat Saphire and Sequinda,
Returning from a Summer's dance,
Their laughter cracked like tinder,
Setting fire to the coachman's pants.
Ahhh! No! It did not really,
It just tickled his hairy leg,
And he fidgeted quite clearly,
Until he had to beg,
'Please girls no more laughter,
I am going round the bend.'
Which happened to be quite a tight one,
With a tunnel at the end.
The fireflies slowed down to a canter,
Turning up the brightness of their glow.
The faeries ceased their banter,
And towards the tunnel they all did go.
Where echos ran like spiders,
Along slimy jet black walls,
And the carriage rocked to sleep it's riders,
While scrawny owls hooted haunted ghostly calls.
Suddenly the sound of tiny faeries snoring,
Started sawing through the carriage door,
Then it began chomping on the flooring,
And the coachman could take no more,
He sent the carriage bumping,
Through the potholes in the road,
And then he started jumping,
just like a big demented toad,
He was humming a quiet nervous tune,
When the carriage shot a foot up into the air,
Just as he thought it would be completely strewn,
A sleepy voice said ' Are we nearly there? '
The coachman was so pleased,
His legs began to chirp,
Then one faerie sneezed,
And the other let loose a great fat hairy burp.
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