It can be hard, when you find out that Death employed your Dad
And Death adopts you as his own Granddaughter.
Do you grow up believing that your own Granddad is bad
Or just does things the way the way he really oughta.
He lets you ride on Binky and you learn to walk through walls
But he tends to scare the pants off all your friends.
When memory can run both ways you know when facts are balls
And remember that all stories have two ends.
It can be rather handy, when you chase the thief of time,
To know that you have powers that can daunt.
Good stories sure beat literature, and poetry should rhyme
And all the evil beasts are fun to taunt.
It can be disconcerting to be on the edge of this
Where magical and real worlds collide.
I'm really far too sensible and not a flighty Miss
I sometimes use my magic skills to hide
I can't stand Mary Poppins she is "far too good as gold"
And all the children that she meets are drugged.
I think I am immortal so I guess I wont grow old,
Unless of course My Grandpa ends up slugged.
I rode upon the Hogfather and helped restore the peace
At least for me it seems life won't be bland.
They call me Susan Sto Helit, my tales will never cease;
I know all Pratchett fans will understand!
Adding your comment:
It held humour and darkness, which is a cool mix!
