THE PIXIE. BY JEAN DAWSON

There’s a pixie who lives in my garden

in the trunk of an old hollow tree.

He’s cheerful and bright, he works day and night

and no one can see him but me.

 

There’s a pixie who lives in my garden,

he wakes up the flowers in Spring,

he fluffs up the tops of the dandelion clocks

and teaches the young birds to sing.

 

There’s a pixie who lives in my garden,

he closes the flowers at night,

he paints all the tips of the daisy flowers red

and shines all the buttercups bright.

 

He scatters the cobwebs with dew every dawn,

they sparkle as bright as can be.

There’s a pixie who lives in my garden

and no one can see him but me.