On a tiny little island
In the middle of a small pool
Stood a very, very tall tree
That was ever so tall
That it's top was allowed
To brush the clouds
Near the top of this tree
Lived a small family
Of tree sprites
And late at night
Would often be seen
Creating clouds of a misty green
As they flew, one, and all
Just above the very small pool
Sometimes, when twilight was nigh
They sat astride dragonflies
Their wings often skimming the water
Like stones
Whilst shrieking with pleasure
In a myriad tones
The wise old owl
That lived a few branches lower
Would blink open its owly eyes
Would hoot loudly, and occasionally glower
As the shy squirrel, would hide away like a flower
So would clean out its drey
Which was tucked away
Within the tree
Using its big bushy tail
To sweep away the nut shells
(The sprites would gather these together
To wear on their heads, in stormy weather)
Below the squirrel
Which lived just below the owl
Who in turn
Lived below the tree sprites
There lived a cuckoo
Who
When quite alone
Would waltz around her home
And practise what she would sing
Upon the arrival of Spring
Below the cuckoo, lived two pigeons
Who sometimes teased the cuckoo
By taking it in turn to coo
Coo, coo, what a hullabaloo!
Beneath the pigeons
Lived a woodworm, called Woody
He never made a sound, he could not, how could he?
And just below him, lived a witch so profound
Where the tree, joined the ground
The witch, was called Harriet
She had a broom, as fast as a jet
The wood for the broom, had grown on the tree
As had her wand, of great mystery
The tree
Was called Ogilvy
He was very old, and wise
His aged limbs, touched the skies
His roots ran deep, deep underground
Spreading far, and wide, and all around
He, like the woodworm
Never spoke a sound
Other than to rustle in the breeze
Like most other trees
And when there was a gale
Seemingly seemed, to sometimes wail
As he was pushed sideways, with the wind
Creating a somewhat loud, creaking din
But protected all those, that lived within
And in the Summer, and the Spring
Ogilvy did a magical thing
As all his blossoms, and leaves would grow
They'd reveal the colours, of a beautiful rainbow

by Jemia