A Tribe of Secret Folk

There is a tribe of secret folk,

which no-one else have seen.

Who take great pains to hide themselves,

and also where they’ve been.

They all have crazy hair of green,

As if it were the law.

They’d make you split your sides with mirth,

And roll up on the floor.

Yet underneath a moon lit sky,

they’ll sing and dance with glee.

Until one hears a heavy foot,

the likes of you or me.

Then all at once they’ll flee the grove,

in silent magic clouds.

To leave the forest with no trace,

of their once festive crowds.

But how is it I know of them?

I bet you wish to know.

In truth it was my birthday wish,

to meet the Bellifloe.

And knowing that I’d tried so hard,

and been the best I could.

Their chief gave me a single hour,

to revel in their wood.

We stayed up playing through the dusk,

which swelled my heart with joy.

So from now on I’ll never be,

a little naughty boy.