Lore

Hearken, thou mortals, to the tale of Deerie,
A fairy spry, bedecked in wings so cheery.
Within yon sylvan glades and verdant bowers,
She dwelt unseen, a sprite of laughing hours.
Yet mischief's fire burned within her breast,
A spark of cunning, ever dispossessed
Of mortal bounds or earthly, honest trade;
For tricks and jest her fortune she made.By moon’s pale beam and morning’s golden hue,
She wove her web of lies, so sweet, so true.
With eyes like dew-dipped stars, she spun her song,
And lured the hearts of mortals, weak and strong.
“Come hither, friend, and taste my honeyed wine,
No harm shall befall thee, O friend of mine!”
Yet 'twas but air, for Deerie’s promises fair
Dissolved like mist, and left none to compare.A purse of gold for her a wisp of grass,
A diamond bright? Nay, a shard of glass.
But in her laughter rang no malice deep,
For none could curse her tricks, nor dare to weep.
Her mirth, a balm, made hearts both light and free,
Though none could see her true identity.In secret did she whisper to the trees,
“Shall mortals not be fooled by me with ease?
For life’s a jest, a fleeting, fragile dream,
Why not, then, gild it with a playful gleam?”
And so, with wiles and charms that ne'er grew weary,
The world was won by crafty, merry Deerie.Thus, take thy guard, yet smile at her delight,
For Deerie thrives where laughter takes its flight.
Beware her scams, her jests, her fleeting grin,
Yet know her tricks do cleanse the soul within.

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