Whenever I pass a gnarly tree,
I knock my knuckles three times three,
My heart beats fast in case it should
Be the right tree in all that
The one where the elves and fairies hide,
With their pots of gold piled high inside:
Where their firefly lanterns swing by day,
And new elf jackets, green and gay,
Are hung in tidy rows and neat,
By curly shoes for elfin feet.
Sometime I'll know I've found it, for
Out will spring a little door,
An elf in a pointed cap will peer
And call me in for seven long year!