Fantasy stories, films and books,
With orcs and elves and Captain Hooks.
The tiniest difference makes them stand out,
Your dwarves have steam punk? What’s that about?
Well aren’t you special, Middle Earth with steam,
Please tell me your vampires have a tendency to gleam.
The fantasy worlds all live on a farm,
Ran by Tolkien and his strong arm.
He makes sure the breeding goes ok,
Nothing too fancy, nothing non-cliché.
“This one lacks a certain point in the ear…
We don’t take kindly to your kind ‘round here.
Humans as bad guys? Are you crazy?
That’s for orcs, wrong color and lazy!”
As Tolkien went to his rocking chair,
On the veranda and fixed his stare,
Fantasy worlds on his vast fields
Copulated wildly, producing great yields,
Changing a bit, superficially only,
Otherwise they’d be exiled and lonely.
Mr. T smiled as a very happy man,
Everything was going according to his plan.