A maid there was in Finland fair
with pale white skin and scarlet hair
and lacy turquoise underwear
and sorrow in her heart.
Her land was under winter’s cloud;
her spirits they were sunken down,
her jaeger bottles emptied out
and lost amid the dark.
“Oh woe is me!” the maiden cried,
“My friends are on the other side
of distant waters deep and wide
and I have got no booze!”
She wept and wept from dusk till dawn,
then pulled her five-inch blue heels on
and, like a fearless mastodon,
she went and booked a cruise.
“I’ll sail away,” quoth she, “and then
I’ll find some sexy single men
and woo them to my heart’s content
and then I’ll have some pie.”
She swore this vow unto the night,
th’unsmiling, ancient Finnish night,
which broods upon the towering heights
of spectral Finnish pines.
The wind came shivering down the slopes
of mountainsides that swarmed with ghosts
and bound the heartsick maiden’s oath
as wind is wont to do.
She heard its cry, it pierced her soul,
and with the rush of sudden cold
she felt a strength from days of old
that filled her heart anew.
So off she went upon her way
through stormy storms and wavy waves
to lands and stuff, and things with caves,
and rocks and crap like that.
Eventually she ended up
in Michigan, where things were tough,
and there, she thought, was far enough,
so she hung up her hat.
Our tale comes, sadly, to a close,
for rhymes are hard when caffeine flows,
and you know how the story goes,
just finish it yourself.
But ne’er forget the wise man’s words
once spoken or written down or heard
that had to do with, like, a magic bird
or something about an elf.