THE PICNIC:

I spy little picnicking pixies in pretty printed plaid,

Down by the river, where the willow´s hair strayed,

 Summer´s flowered flutes by the elves were played,

And the river Nymphs danced as the old dog bayed.

Carob munched & nectar drunk from the acorn cups,

Mother´s milk from the whelp for her new born pups,

Every little creature in the wood, dances & gaily sups,

A magical picnic where no human dares to interrupt.

The water giggled & the kingfisher, his fishy songs sang,

The crocus laughed & hollyhocks, their little bells rang,

No uninvited creatures came bearing claw nor fang,

The wood´s cracked seed-pods went pop, crisp & bang.

Sated as the sun went down & fun was had by one & all,

Summer´s nearly over now & in walks smoky golden fall,

All little creatures disappear now to subterranean halls,

Excitedly making plans for their coming floral spring ball.