…and waltzed into a thrift…
Who robed the woods,
The happy woods?
The frolicksome trees
Had shed their flowers and leaves
Their fantasies to please.
I scanned their bits, offended,
I threw them burrs and moss.
Thus the solemn hemlock stood;
Thus was fir-tree’s loss.
Her final draft (with interpretation), which was also amusing.
But that little bird better, if he knows what’s good for him.
The clouds their backs together laid,
The north begun to push,
The forests galloped till they fell,
The lightning skipped like mice;
The thunder crumbled like a stuff—
How nice I have a gnome cave,
Where nature’s temper cannot reach,
Nor bigger people ever come!
The graver original.
If what Chuck could were what Chuck would—
Woodchucks be small;
It is the Ultimate Chuck
That would chuck woods.
A totally silly rendition of a dense little classic. One of the few where her original penchant for hyphens pays dividends of clarity.
Velvet people from Vevay, Switzerland, where many fine and wee little gnomes are known to live…
Exhilaration is the Breeze
That lifts us from the ground
And leaves us in another place
That turns out to be an Indian burial mound;
Returns us not, but after time
We soberly descend,
A little newer for the term
We played with bones we found.
The original version. This has also been turned into a choral piece that even middle-schoolers can sing.