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The Tale of the Mystic Goose
(also known as and Ode to Barley)

A long time ago I met a man who said he'd seen a mystic goose!
It roamed across an empty land, a lonely, small recluse!
So when I asked him where I should try to go and run into this bird,
He softly spoke, and cleared his throat and told me what the beast preferred!

The mystic goose comes out at dawn,
And travels though the plains.
It makes its journey, far and long,
In search of golden grains.

The power of this feathered creature came from an ancient herb,
An age old recipe: harvest, grind, bake then serve.
The wheat pure gold was hard to find but for this bird no other meal would do,
And as we journey through these very lands, the goose may well be too.

We’ve all heard tales of the gifts it grants if you give it the honey tipped grass,
The jewels, the dreams, the wild extremes of capes and crowns of glass!
But before you go to the mystic goose and give away your produce-
Remember the joys, all the cheerful noise that it brings with its other use!

The mystic goose goes in at dusk,
As we retreat as well!
He’ll search forever as we raise our cups,
To our drink and merry hell!