Story of a woodcutter who visits a forest,

To cut the wood for him whichever is best,

A family of five that he has to feed,

This story is obviously about his greed,

And the fruit that he bore off that seed.

 

While cutting the branches of a pine tree,

His axe fell in the stream which he couldn’t see,

He searched for it everywhere but all in vain,

He wailed for some time and was in pain,

It was his only boon which had now become a bane.

 

He sat on the stream bank and was about to quit,

When he heard the noise and got up to hear it.

Next to the tree overlooking the very stream,

A beautiful woman in yellow robes did gleam,

The floral print on the fabric had a new scheme.

 

The woodcutter asked her who she was,

What in the forest was she doing with a pause.

The woman said that she was a fairy,

And told the woodcutter not to find it scary,

She had come to turn his misfortunes into an obsolete theory.

 

The woodcutter forgot his pain and agony,

His forgot the iron axe and its irony.

Acclimatized to the fairy’s glory and grace,

He was completely infatuated to her pretty face,

And knew the loser in him might lose the race.

 

The fairy kept asking him what it was that he required,

He was spell cast and not even a single thing he uttered.

His eyes were busy reading her lips red,

As if they were the grains depot that could fed,

But the woodcutter had his thoughts further ahead.

 

He was wondering why in the forest would the fairy,

Be alone, look hot, dress revealing and not weary.

While the fairy repeated and sought his wish,

He was busy reckoning the fairy as the lonely fish,

And thus he act very selfish.

 

Lost in the fascination of the floral fairy’s attire,

He was in anticipation of his inner desire.

His eyes glued to her womanhood,

Whom he had commenced relishing as food,

He was feeling that the very feeling was good.

 

Recognizing his intentions the fairy yelled a mouthful,

The woodcutter couldn’t digest that she could be so skillful.

His eye rapport with her sweet elements broke,

His desire bit the dust since no further he could poke,

Woodcutter’s tale looked nothing but a joke.

 

The hot fairy vanished like a balloon with air rushing out,

There was no reflex time nor could the woodcutter shout.

He cried and cried and cried and there was no end to his grief,

It was he who himself couldn’t provide his own self any relief,

He had lost his mind and character if all was summed up in brief.

 

Moral of the story is that one should remain in senses,

Whatever may be the prevailing circumstances.

Gorgeous women or seductive fairies will knock at your doors,

Such opportunity should be aptly used by sticking to your chores,

Neither offend them nor get fooled, wisely they may be yours.