“Oh, right! Open fire!” I said, and each Goose
Shot true; but the elf, with a smile, said, “No use!
Your bullets are just common silver and lead.
You may as well lob old tomatoes instead.”
“Oh, out of my way!” cried the voice from the back,
And up Sir Integra ran, on the attack!
She carried no weapon, except an old pan;
But once it had seen it, the elf turned and ran!
With one mighty leap she was back in the sleigh,
When it, load and reindeer and all, flew away.
“Too late!” Not again!” she exclaimed. “Ev’ry year!”
“What were they?” said I in surprise. “And why here?
And what were they planning to do? And what can they?
And where did they come from? And what’s with the pan, eh?”
“They’re faeries,” she answered. “That’s all that we know.
They never explain why they come or they go.
Since only cold iron can damage the fae,
A threat with a pan can make them go away.
But it’s not enough just to force their departure!
I really must catch one before it can scarper!”
She fumed for a bit while we looked at the sky,
Watching the sleigh pulled by reindeer that fly.
Then I said, “You ready to go on back in?
It’s cold here outside, and that nightgown is thin.”