mayawrites

Fairies were clad in woolen socks,

To protect their magic leak,

Grown men enscribed on walls,

On fairy chimneys peak.

The magic simply fell out of them,

Collected in a puddle,

As it rained they absorbed in their phlegm,

In immaturity’s mystical huddle.

Their wings glittered in their gold lining,

A pulsating red, the fruit in the sky during summers,

A weapon to unknown, otherwise divining,

The wings slowly attach as they become hers.

They pasted wings to their backs,

Until result day arrived,

7 years, 4 days, 28 hours,

Whether it succumbs or cracks.

As water is consumed, it passes through

The mouth of elysian,

The oesophagus of gold florets,

The stomach of no reason,

The intestine of no regrets.

The nutrients are assimilated,

As rhyme and charm are accociated.

As babies declothe in their cloudy hay,

Upon their birth in sun’s bask

They slurp honey from the moonflower a day,

In a merchandised avant-garde flask.

On Charmsday, crystallised tears are thrown and played,

On Spellerday, the café downvillage offers dragon egg tea.

On Elfesday, the men are weighed and the girls are aided,

On Petalesday, Magical conjurs are seasoned in the seaea,

On Berresday, Madame ambrosia extracts nectar from her skin,

On Starlesday, honeydew and nectar is syruped on salad,

On Starfulday, the fairy gyms weep tutorials begin.