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The Sating of a Satyr

by Steven "Prometheus" Hoey

Aurora’s roseate hues spilt forth from her cup,
As Zephyr’s sweet breeze kissed the soft sleeping land;
Eos proclaimed, ‘It’s time to get up!
Bid welcome to Helius, the day is at hand!’

The rays from his face pierced the gloom of the wood,
As Helius let loose his warm golden shower:
High above the horizon the proud sun god stood,
Upon flaming chariot, incandescent with power.

’Neath a blanket of buttercups the nymph Daisy stirred,
As the Wallashalla River flowed cool along its banks;
She stretched and she yawned, scratching her belly (which was furred),
Then sighed, feeling down, not up, for nymphish pranks.

‘Why so despondent, my little flower?’ asked a voice;
Fiona the swan nymph floated with grace amongst the lily:
‘You should be frolicking and pleasuring the satyr of your choice;
This sullen, sulken sighing is really quite silly. ’

‘I know,’ Daisy sighed, ‘but I’m really quite helpless;
I’ve tried every trick and technique I command,
But even law lord Todd professed he never felt less;
After our failed attempt, he did it by hand.

‘Well, my dear,’ replied the sylph-like swan,
‘I think I know the heart of the matter:
You must know how to handle men chanced upon,
You must learn, my dear Daisy, how to sate a satyr.’

Daisy leapt up, all at once full of hope,
And begged faire Fiona to show her the way;
Fiona demurred, pointing up the slope:
‘Childe Harold will explain it; I really can’t stay.’

And so she was off, floating serene out of sight:
Nymph Daisy did tread to the base of the hill,
Over a fence, ’cross a stream, she climbed to the heights,
In search of the shepherd, with a view to a thrill.

Then Daisy spied him perched on top of a rock:
The lambs grazed around him on bluebells and clover;
Watching her closely, he dipped his hand in a crock —
It came out gleaming black and greasy all over.

‘Graphite grease, my dear,’ he said in hushed tones,
As he rubbed it on the chain of a wicked contraption;
Childe Harold pulled a cord, the roar rattling his bones,
And the sheep were drawn closer by some fatal attraction.

‘Oh please, sweet shepherd,’ she shouted over the din,
‘Could you tell me, if you would, how to sate a satyr?’
At this he long pondered, then said with a grin:
‘Bring ten boys from the Orient, served up on a platter!’

At this Daisy fled (and the lambs went to slaughter):
Down the hill, through the glen and deep into the bramble,
Her wee heart was a-poundin’, good lord, he nearly got her!
The nymph began to think her quest hardly worth the gamble.

Sweet Daisy knelt down to take a drink from the brook,
When out of the bush proud Aslan did spring;
Dan Leo crouched ready for a nip and a nook —
Alas, one look at Daisy left him limp as a spring.

The nymph turned around to face the lord of the jungle,
Whilst Dan Leo sat back all disgruntled and cross;
Daisy fell prostrate, explaining the trysts she had bungled,
But Dan couldn’t be bothered, he didn’t give a toss.

But at last he gave in to her pitiful pleading,
And outlined the pleasures a man-beast doth crave:
‘Rub him in oil, give his bum a good kneading;
Hot wax and caviar, make him a leather love slave!’

The nymph took her notes and nodded her head,
For surely, if anybody, king Dan knew his stuff,
But to spank a man senseless, his bum hot and red,
Was surely not on, it sounded too rough.

So she took counsel elsewhere, as nymphs seem to do,
Which was quite unwise, as she was soon to see;
Deep into the forest to parts no nymph knew,
To seek out the dark one that lived ’neath a tree.

It was knobbly and nubbley and utterly vile;
The tree’s roots were fetid and covered with ash
From countless French ciggies smoked in unearthly style:
She dug up the box, pried off the lid and lifted the sash.

His lips they were fulsome and red as a bud,
His hand was like ice as it latched to her wrist:
‘Welcome my dear, I’m in need of some blood,
But I sense sex has drawn you — a nice little twist.

For I’ve always maintained the two are but one,
Orgasm is death and both are such fun!
At All Souls we know love’s sickly story!
To sate means self-hatred; in pleasure there’s no glory.’

Again the nymph fled far away from the crypt
To the depths of a cave, hid behind roaring falls:
In the gloom she could see the walls covered with script
And followed the ’glyphs through endless damp halls.

At last she found a chamber of light;
’Twas the lair of Prometheus, magician and druid,
Who seemed not the least bit surprised at her sight
And beckoned her forward with gesture quite fluid.

‘My child, you’ve been searching for an unholy grail,
And look at the trouble it’s brought you so far:
Men also yearn for things other than "tail";
Not all of life’s pleasures are found in bed or a bar! ’

‘But what’s a nymph’s place, if not to pleasure a man,’
Cried Daisy confused, knowing not what to do.
At this the young Wiz came up with a plan
And sprinkled some fairy dust into the brew.

His cauldron bubbled and frothed like a tap;
The cave shone with light nearly totally blinding.
A wind blew up suddenly, removing his cap;
Still he mumbled the words to make the spell binding.

A great dais materialised right out of thin air,
Crushing cauldron and stove with awesome jewelled weight,
And upon the throne formed a presence so faire —
’Twas nymph queen Gilly (who’d known many a mate).

Prometheus addressed her with warmth and affection,
Beseeching the goddess to set Daisy straight
On satyrs and menfolk and fleshly confection,
And faire Dragowicz spoke with the voice of the Fates.

‘Dear Daisy, why I bother is truly a mystery,
For you nymphs are so shallow — but then so once was I;
But then Prometheus knows my tainted history;
So now to your question, which is as easy as pie!

‘To sate a satyr’s not a difficult task;
A man’s a man regardless of size;
The more you give, the more he’ll ask,
But to love him true, now that’s the prize!

‘Sweet, dreamless love, a summer’s soft kiss,
Will drive your man wild, will make your man sing!
Kinky techniques, give them a miss:
Just give your heart — true love’s the thing. ’

And so Daisy left them to do what they will,
Her feet traipsing lightly through fields of clover;
She was through lusting blindly; no more cheap thrills —
Just fine, blissful love all the world over.