Walking around on an unknown path,

I cannot deny that I’m lost.

When sitting on a thistle with a silly little whistle,

A leprechaun sat with his pot.

I said to the chap in a little red cap,

Does he know where the hell that I was,

When he looked up at me,

And he said simply,

“A diddle, a diddle daddle dot.”

“What!” I replied in a cacophonous cry,

“Can you say that again only not,

In that dibble dabble lot,

Of unattainable tot,

And reply to my question in kind!”

“A boobly bubbly diddley,

A widdle diddly dee,”

Was the strange little things,

That he said unto me,

“A wibbly wobbly what?”

“No, a boobly bubbly diddley,

An elephants nose and that’s your lot.”

“Well I must say what an uncommon way,

Is the manner of speech that you say!

For I am quite lost,

And in haste to be not,

So can you tell me the place I cannot?”

“In deedley diddley dee,

So easy it is for me,

To answer thy question in full,

But answer I’ll not,

Cause I frankly cannot,

Be bothered so would you kindly sod off.”

“Well I never!” I retorted,

In my need to be sorted,

Held hostage his little round pot

Still he ignored it,

And soon I resorted,

To kicking the bugger a lot.

“No manner or violence,

Can stifle my silence,

So kindly desist with thy boot!”

“Until I am answered,

Thy but will be battered,

So hurry thy tongue to be loose!”

“Oh fiddly fodder!” he said,

“Why should I bother?

There’s something you really should know!”

“To know where I am!

Be how all this began,

But instead you speak nonsense unknown!”

“I answer thee not,

For in truth I forgot,

As to where I have hidden my gold!

So using my whistle,

To locate my thistle,

Will grant thee the knowledge I hold.”

“Then blow on thy whistle,

And locate thy thistle,

And hurry for the day is now short!

For soon I will be,

Back at home with my tea,

And no longer stuck here with your sort!”

He blew on his whistle,

With a dance on the thistle,

T’was clear he’d discovered his gold.

“Well!” I demanded,

“Thy gold is located,

Now answer my question as told!”

“A jiminy jamini fiddley dee,

A wibbly wobbly knobbly knee.”

The leprechaun uttered whilst jumping with glee.

“Upon thy concern,

Then around thy must turn,

And follow the way thy hath been!”

The leprechaun chuckled,

As he hurriedly scuffled,

Away to be lost in the thistles.

I followed in vain,

Yet I could not retain,

This slimy old sod with his whistle!

Enraged I then uttered,

Some words that I muttered,

A sort that I’d best not repeat.

That odd little bugger,

With the jibbery jabber,

Hath left me in a state of defeat!

So there I now stood,

By myself in the woods,

As lost as a man without aim.

The only way out,

Without reasonable doubt,

Was to go back the way that I came.

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