My father was a donkey, for
My mother loved an elf --
Or that's how people treat me, so
I just keep to myself.
I play the drum, pipe, and lysard,
I forge, and fence with skill,
But Cook says keep from mother's sight,
"Your presence makes her ill."
A pair of hairy donkey ears
Would not cause more disdain
Than these small pointed ears I have.
I've folded them in vain.
Sometimes I almost start to say,
"This really isn't fair --
I did not choose to be this way!"
But nobody would care.
They haven't put me in a stall,
I've got my nook and hearth,
They haven't hitched me to a plow,
But donkeys have more worth.
When company is here, I'm sworn
To never show my face,
I'm sure visitors know I'm here,
But I am a disgrace.
If I could hold a concert, oh!
What would the watchers say?
I'd bet, "Bright gods, the boy can sing?
We always thought he'd bray."
I'll outlive every one of them,
Scarce comfort that will be --
I'd rather die tomorrow, if
Someone would smile at me.
Three generations down the line,
They'll still keep me up here
And say, "Stay quiet, wretched thing,
When company is near."
I dream I see the elven lord,
He's glad to see I grew --
He offers words of comfort
And a helpful shoulder, too.
But I wake knowing it's a lie,
And I keep to myself --
His kind would name me 'mule' too,
For I'm only part elf!