There lived an old man who couldn´t remember,
His name, his age or ´twas May or December.
By day he walked mountains, at night swung in the trees,
He´d sleep in an instant, or cuddle up with bees.
So happy was Nimmy he could always be found,
With a smile like a rainbow painted upside down.
His weeks were spent throwing rocks into streams,
Or singing sweet lullabies to chocolate ice-cream.
With nothing to trouble him Nimmy´s eyes knew,
Things no-one else did, like fairies drink dew.
And Imps eat custard straight from your spoon,
Or eyes are made white by the light from the moon.
Nimmy saw clouds were the foam of the sea,
Which made soft, soft beds for a dragon or three.
In the mountains lived trolls whose wind made the wind,
Sweetened by flowers whose perfume felt kind.
Witches are lovely and made Nimmy food,
With lashings of his favourite; tea, well brewed.
Some folk knew not, that they looked like big moths,
While others lay about all day, like big lazy sloths.
And because of this Nimmy decided that never,
A thing on the earth would he choose to remember.
Keep a good lookout for Nimmy’s other world.
Chance is you’re a panther, a flower or a pearl.
Tom Shearman | Writer 