(A Satire)

When I grow up I'm going to be
A Druid with a trisk-a-lee.
A golden sickle I shall wear
And shining flowers in my hair,
I'll talk to trees and walk on lakes,
I'll fish in brooks and hide in brakes,
I'll wear long robes and speak in verse,
I'll cast a spell or scream a curse,
I'll grow a beard and shave my head --
They'll chant my name after I'm dead.
I'll come out with one book per year
To make the Druid way seem clear,
Offer workshops to the masses,
Charge big bucks for all my classes.
I'll make it up as I go on
(There'll be no proof that it's all wrong).
I'll re-tire with a tidy sum
And thumb my nose at con-ven-tion.
And all those people working hard,
All those *real* Druids, Seers, and Bards,
Will bitch and moan about my gall,
But I won't care; I'll have it all!