Old man of the wood
His crinkled red hood
An eminent steeple
His stature, it towers
Six walnuts high
He looks by and by
Over his shoulder
And over the flowers
Just for to see—
As if it could be—
That any loud noise
Unfazed by his poise
Is some terrible beastie
E'en greater than he
Who might be attackin'.
His great shoulders slacken
On hearing these dampers
And quickly he scampers
To his tree-house
Behind
The bracken