Looking for elves

UNDER a toadstool crept a wee Elf,
Out of the rain to shelter himself.

Under the toadstool, sound asleep,
Sat a big Dormouse all in a heap.

Trembled the wee Elf, frightened and yet
Fearing to fly away lest he get wet.

To the next shelter-maybe a mile!
Sudden the wee Elf smiled a wee smile.

Tugged till the toadstool toppled in two.
Holding it over him, gaily he flew.

Soon he was safe home, dry as could be.
Soon woke the Dormouse-"Good gracious me!

"Where is my toadstool?" loud he lamented.
-And that's how umbrellas first were invented.

No dormouse either.

Good job really. Tess loves to chomp a rodent.

Thanks to Oliver Herford, 19th Century American Poets.