Classic Poem

There's terrible trouble in Fairyland,
 I hear from a humming-bird fresh from the border,
The impudent sprites of that airy strand
 Refusing to follow the good old order.

The elves have deserted both field and glade—
 “So tired of tending the thankless flowers!”
The gnomes have abandoned the pick and spade,
 Demanding more wages and shorter hours.

The nixes and mermaids have swum ashore;—
 “The waters are damp, chill, and uninviting.”
The witches will dwell in the woods no more;
 Apartments they want, with electric lighting.

The monarchs are throwing their scepters down;—
 “It's wearisome work,—this eternal reigning!”
The queens push their honey aside, and frown,
 And all through the palaces there's complaining.

The royal-born youths of the golden clime
 Play football and hockey, and each professes
The utmost aversion to wasting time
 In rescuing maidens with golden tresses.

And the maidens deplorable taste evince;
 Her nose in the air, each vows, defiant,
That sooner than mate with a stupid prince
 She'd marry an ogre or lovely giant!

While the dragon roars from his gloomy hall
 (And, oh, it isn't a theme for laughter!):
“I've swallowed the princess, crown and all,
 And I'm to ‘live happily ever after.’”