by Nick Gisburne
We steam the finest fairies in a sack
A fragrant, fresh selection, every week
The bleeding and the broken ones, thrown back
Are not the splendid specimens we seek
The impulse is to eat them, but of course
The whispers of a mermaid are required
To smoke their spiky spines, a deadly source
Of poison, not so easily acquired
The wings, when plucked, will never go to waste
For silver coins, their magic can be yours
As fairy dust, a sprinkle, just a taste
Will open secret, psychedelic doors
Enjoy the Charmer’s Market. Try, and buy
The first, the finest, Faun and Fairy Pie
