There poppies grow, and lilies rare,
These only really thriving there,
But crimson-booted stork there feedeth,
To earthly mothers children leadeth.
In poppy scent with lilies vieing,
He gently flaps at water’s brink,
To capture chubby genie trying,
And begs them not to fear or shrink.
The bantlings, in whose souls are blended
Fragrance from both flowers expended,