Certainly

The children have seen them

In quiet places where the moss grows green

Coloured shells

Jangle together

The wind is cold, the year is old

The trees whisper together

And bent in the wind they lean



If I was a witches hat

Sitting on her head like a paraffin stove

I'd fly away and be a bat

Across the air I would rove

Stepping like a tightrope walker

Putting one foot after another

Wearing black cherries for rings



If I was a witches hat

Sitting on her head like a telegraph pole

Id fly away and be a bat

Across the air I would roll

Stepping like a tightrope walker

Putting one foot after another

Wearing black cherries for rings