Justus has his tiger suit, Jesse has his mane, Myra wields a mighty sword (That brave, unlikely dame!) Loaded up with chestnuts Little Tay makes up the rear, As Myra leads the little troop In one long, rousing cheer. With a hey-hi-ho they’ll make their way To the glade where the dew cups wait; Where the berries plump grow just to fill Each glossy, leafy plate. A rustle…halt! A pair of eyes From yonder bush! “Who goes?” A change of plans, the little band Regroups to meet the foe! It’s “Charge!” and “To the rock pile, men!” With Myra in the lead. “Retreat!” and “Rally, troops, again!” The big and small take heed As sticks whirl wide and chestnuts fly, The sword swings in an arc. The bandits, quelled, slink quite away— Our band has left their mark. With a hey-hi-ho they’ll make their way To the glade where the dew cups wait; Where the berries plump grow just to fill Each glossy, leafy plate. The sky grows dark and hands grow chilled, The rose is in their face, The lights of home gleam steady, warm, As moon to sun gives chase. “It’s time to call a truce, my friends! Now off to yonder light Where waits a song and table long To keep us through this night.” And it’s hey-hi-ho as friend and foe Dash ’cross the grassy way; The garb drops by as grins grow wide— A feast to close the day.