Song--With Apologies to W.S. Gilbert, but who got even
     With this dratted rhyming scheme!

When you find you're a mythical creature,
The kind that the textbooks don't feature,
And the person who sees you a screecher,
     Or (much worse) someone out for a kill,
If your mother was sweet, but a dragon,
Or a sphinx someone kept in a wagon,
And your father a faun, with a flagon,
     Or a troll who was out for a thrill,
When you're out on the edge, but a centaur,
     And the track team's barred you from the course,
And your love life just couldn't be benter,
     Since you're dating two girls and a horse,
          If you've three rows of teeth
               Hence, a threatening grin
     And spines shoot from your rear,
          And the best _apertif_
     Is the milkman, I fear,
               You had better stay in!


If your physique's both eagle and lion
And your hind legs both hamper your flying,
And, although you can't roar, you keep trying
     Since it simply can't work with a beak.
If you're shocked when they _don't_ call you "Fairy,"
And you think three feet tall ordinary
And you find lepidoptery scary
     And you haven't touched ground for a week--

If folks doubt that your head is your own,
     And, when you go out walking, doors slam,
If there's panic wherever you've flown,
     You had best cut your losses and scram!
          If they doubt you, at least,
               Or just say you're not there,
                    Or they call you a fraud
          Or a fantastic beast
               Or a walking nightmare
                    You shall find your life odd!