The pilgrim fly poem       

It used to be a pilgrim fly  

the little cradle was in Swabia.

The father said to the mother "Look,

The baby fly is now called the puck ”.

The little puck grew briskly,

soon became a fly man.

The little animal quickly fledged too,

and followed old fly custom.

Finding the forest was his goal

to play there cheeky game.

With game and better still with people,

whether Swiss, German or French.

Puck took his father's advice,

and found the great pilgrim path.

Where now and then, far too seldom,

the pilgrims walk between worlds.

Uih, some looked weird

piggybacked their house.

Then one day a woman came

she thought she was super smart.

The pilgrim's hat frames the brain,

the glasses tight, almost on the forehead.

She thrust the sticks into the ground

only the horses ran faster.

The instinct to flee, that was her drive

And also the only thing that remained.

Because Puck, that was his last will,

crashed in the direction of glasses.

Short  before the impact, what a shock,

was the little one  Puck away.

A wind suction had caught him

There was no light in Sandra's nose.

A curse from her, a crazy snort,

Puck saw light and doves of peace.

He's already floating in the next sphere

would that not be James there?

He sounds the puck for his act,

and give him one  good advice.

"In the next life, dear Puck,

honor the pilgrim jewelry ”.

“The hat is the pilgrim's crown.

defend like your son.

And do you see a temple

you have to curb your desires.

Release the pilgrim's escort,

then it will surely get twice as far ”.

And stay away from its tube

then you live long and well, I swear! "

And the moral of the story',

better not anger the pilgrim!

Because since the puck died

would be a fairy tale crap!