The Satyr - O, what a wonder is he!
A lover and brawler of highest degree!
The dryads and naiads all giggle and sigh
When bearers of horn and of hoof happen by.

Old as the forest and young as the spring,
They love and they battle, they drink and they sing.
So curtsey to hoof, and salute to the horn,
For in Satyr breasts, Maya's passion is borne.

The love of a Satyr at first seems elusive -
Flighty and fickle and hardly exclusive,
But capture his heart - thou shalt have in the end
No truer defender, or lover, or friend.

The joy of a Satyr rings Sapient halls
With laughter and singing resounding the walls.
Pass him a mug or a flask and a lyre.
Companions shall have all the mirth they require.

The rage of a Satyr fells many a man.
It burns in his heart for a staggering span.
Swiftly or slowly, he hath no regrets -
By blade, fist, or tongue - he never forgets.

The Satyr - O, what a wonder is he!
A wandering star, an intractable sea!
Passion in all is his rose and his thorn,
So curtsey to hoof, and salute to the horn!

Dedicated to the Satyrs of Achaea, who make the realms musical, merry,
sexy, and sometimes highly frustrating - but always intriguing.

Penned by my hand on the 17th of Lupar, in the year 415 AF.