Some elvish folk-lore

[Daryoon]

(Bitte nicht zu ernst nehmen) ;)

An elvin-maid there was of old,
A stenographer by day;
Her Hair was fake, her teeth were gold,
Her scent was that of cheap sachet.

She thought that art was really 'keen,'
The top ten she could hum;
Her eyes were full of Maybelline,
Her mouth, of chewing gum.

Her head was full of men and clothes,
Her hair, of ratted curls;
Her legs, she wrapped in fine Sup-Hose,
For nights out with the girls.

She met one morn an elvin-lad,
Who took her to the fights,
And said he owned a spacious pad,
And went to law school nights.

And so that night she gave her all,
In back of his sedan;
So rich, she thought, so sharp and tall,
A perfect family man.

But then he told her with a smirk,
That he loved another,
And was a part-time postal clerk
And lived home with his mother.

A silver tear rolled down her cheek,
As she bussed home all by herself;
The same thing happened twice last week,
(Oh, heavens help the Working-elf!)