She is but a shiny fairy,
Sitting upon a topiary.
Her wings spark and flicker,
But this is the effect of a bottle of liquor.
Her heart beating is that of a drum,
But it doesn't run on love, it runs on the run.
She chased down her dreams,
Planning out her simplistic schemes.
Her hair now shines against moonbeams,
There's too much her smile redeems.
Every second she spends in a dress,
Her brain becomes a puzzling mess.
Next, it is him,
Reading over the book he only had the chance to skim,
Making sure he had taken each step,
To the fairy, he is known as Shepp.
Shepp is a fairly simple man,
For around this world, he put one ban:
''None can speak with those which read,
They shall not know the stories we weave.''
The fairy loves Shepp, Shepp loves her,
''This book is for you, monsieur.''
The fairy, however, does not exist,
even if Shepp otherwise insists.
Shepp mentions the fairy to his friends,
But each one simply snickers.
''Well really, it is you who is thicker.''
''But Shepp, she is but the effect, of a bottle of liquor.''
~The End~