When we named you ‘red’,
We didn’t have a name
For that stain on your chest and face; Your unashamed orange blush That says,
“I have something to say”.
Down the centuries, we’ve made you friendly, Here in the land of Goodfellow, And that Hood fellow.
Leaving you unharmed
In countless nods to folklore:
Sit on our garden tools.
So say it you do.
You come to us, here with the voice of the brook,
Singing phrases we will never understand.