One Summer’s day, his love and he,
Beneath the Farkleberry tree,
Gazed through the leaves unto the sky,
And swore their love would never die.
But then a cloud obscured the blue;
The rain poured down and soaked them through.
The lightning flashed and thunder rolled
And both now shivered with the cold.
Then came a fierce and mighty crack –
A fiery bolt shot from the black
And threatening sky; it struck the tree
Before the couple home could flee.
Now there beneath a blackened stump,
A mound of earth, a mournful hump
Is marked to show the lovers’ bed.
(They buried them, for they were dead).
The moral of this fateful tale?
Should you be caught out in gale;
If high above the dark clouds form
And herald an approaching storm,
And with your love you wish to cower
Beneath a green and leafy bower,
Most people with some sense agree:
Don’t choose a Farkleberry tree.