There are fairies at the bottom of my garden,

and they help the flowers grow.

I used to see them in the yard

in the full moon's glow.

They squeaked in syllables high-pitched,

they gambolled in their acorn hats;

the garden glowed as if bewitched.

My wife thought it was cats.

They revelled on for hours and weeks,

keeping us up till the morning dew

each night with their tiny shrieks.

I found my .22,

allowed my tired heart to harden,

and quickly laid them low.

There are fairies at the bottom of my garden,

and they help the flowers grow.