The Little Man in Green.
Up our street he walked;
A Little Man in Green,
With the fiercest, reddest beard,
That I had ever seen.
He wore boots of blackest black,
With silver buckles gleaming bright,
And, with the strongest Irish brogue, he asked,
Where he could spend the night.
He had dark and twinkling eyes,
And a nose all round and fat,
He had blushing rosy cheeks,
And wore the greenest, buckled hat.
He had a sack upon his back,
That he put down on the ground,
Then he put his hand behind my ear,
And there a golden coin, he found.
He said that adults couldn't see him,
Because their magic they had lost,
They did not believe in Leprechauns,
No more than they believed in ghosts
I brought him to my home,
And I opened up our shed,
I swept a corner nice and clean,
And made up the snuggest bed.
I said I'd get a candle,
So he could have some light,
And then he opened up his sack,
And fireflies lit the night.
Then out flew a host of Faeries,
With wings of gossamer,
And they made a glowing campsite,
On the creaky wooden floor.
I was mesmerised and scared,
I was thrilled and filled with awe,
For this was the greatest sight,
That I had ever saw.
I sat down on a toolbox,
And drank in this wondrous scene,
And I must have fell asleep,
And then I thought it was a dream.
I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes,
And in the corner of the shed,
I saw golden coins a glinting,
All piled up on the bed.
And on the creaky, wooden floorboards,
Was a hat of emerald green,
And little tents all folded up,
Where the Faerie camp had been.
Now I am an adult,
And have children of my own,
And I tell to them the story,
Of the magic I was shown.
At the bottom of our garden,
In our little potting shed,
I make sure it's always ready;
The little camping bed.
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