The green little ones

Over the hills and under the trees,
deep in the green,
in a brown little stub,

quick as a squirrel,
hard to trace.

Who live in this place?

A rat?

A cat?

A raven, red as a ginger,

'fraid as a tinker bell?

Tell me,

can you trace,

what eyes might not see,

but that corners embrace.

Soft as a feather and

light as the morn' wind.

Give yous a thought

of the wii little one,

that lives in the ground,

far from our sights.