Six gnomes, custodians of the Kingdom’s gold
Slide down the slippery central brass pole
Leading to their gated vault under the oak.
The spiders must be paid, for saving the little folk.
As soon as the six gnomes arrived
They saw the gates, had been opened wide
‘Who has been here’ they cry in alarm.
The Gnomes were distressed, they’re usually calm.
The oldest gnome Norman took the lead
‘Let’s go in and see, follow me’.
The treasure caskets had been upturned,
Nothing left, they quickly learned.
‘We must talk to King Oberon, he’ll know what to do’.
Whispered old Norman through his teeth, yellow and few.
They were lifted up by basket to the tallest part of the tree
And there he was before them, the king, in all his majesty.
‘It’s a terrible thing ‘said Norman to the King
‘That today awful news to you we bring.
Our treasure trove has simply gone
Taken by those to whom, it does not belong’.
The witch was suddenly in their midst,
On her broom, black sacks slung astride.
‘There was no time to tell you and confide
As everyone had been told to hide.
‘When the wasps attacked, the gold couldn’t stay
So I placed it in my secret cave, a million miles away.’
The gnomes smiled from ear to ear so relieved this story to hear.
The king said, ‘as it turns out, we had nothing to fear, but fear.’