'Twas before the days of Darrin the Bold
When this story and its lore be told.
With Grover the Morph, an ancestor of he
In Ireland- 13th century.
Now, Grover, one to kiss and tell,
Into love with a wood nymph he hopelessly fell.
Their lives were a blend of bliss and of song
But their happiness- fate had it not to be long.
One evil witch, with malicious intent
To their union was a spell aimed to prevent.
To irk every wood nymph who lives amongst trees
(Witches and wood nymphs are enemies).
The witch changed the Morph into a different man
And that no one took notice was part of her plan.
No wood nymph, no mortal, no being that be
Would know that poor Grover changed permanently.
But the forest told the wood nymph what happened.
The girl- vengeful, crying, and spirit deadlocked
Vowed to make witches pay for her love that was lost
A "taste of their own medicine" was the cost.
Wood nymphs from all over, their pride all-for-one,
All asking the eldest on what was to be done.
The elder was wise and suggested a curse
For the cruel witches' fates to be made even worse.
There goes a prophecy known by a select few
That someday, mortal and witch rendezvous
They'll fall in love- and now, a crossover:
That mortal will be a descendant of Grover.
"What to do? Simple. Put a spell that will change
The form of every male relative long-range.
Grover's descendants won't realize it or notice.
Nor will mortals or witches. Just us nymphs would know this."
The proposal was greeted with rousing applause.
So the nymphs cast their spell, all believing their cause.
Male descendants would transform at varying ages
And déjà-vu would occur in that life by the mages.
And so ends this legend of Grover the Morph
But the spell's vengeful purpose had seemed to be dwarfed
For some mere mortals knew (for some reason, weren't dense).
The nymphs weren't expecting a TV audience.