The Lore of Enchanter Daria of the Plains

Ride a while, and soon you’ll have a wish
for magic. Saddle-sore and strained of leg,
at inn, fall fast asleep right in your dish
of stew. In morning, find my frog and beg
a word of me. I’ll work you up a charm,
keep you in comfort—as if were a bed
you rode on gravel paths. Keep you from harm
and give you restful dreams. But if, instead,
you spurn my wisdom, skeptic of my craft,
I’ll charm your luck away. You’ll sorely miss
those early journey days. Oh, how I’ve laughed—
regretful offers, wealth or wine or kiss
the same. Save weeks of trouble and despair
or don’t—the same to me, I do not care.

Entered by: 0x3e17…7e9e and preserved on chain (see transaction)