by Nick Gisburne
By teaching tiny children how to fly,
The pixies, in their mischief, seek to snatch
The fury from an evil ogre’s eye,
And with it force a dragon’s egg to hatch.
With wails and whoops, the infants soar and spin,
In mad, amazing, aerobatic tricks,
But on the night their mission must begin,
A problem proves impossible to fix.
They will not put on armour as they’re told.
It chafes their squishy, sensitive behinds.
Without it, they will perish in the cold,
But nothing now persuades their tiny minds.
Instead, they snuggle, suck their thumbs, and sleep,
While pixies plot to make them earn their keep.
