Night falls quickly over the small town,

Quietly reaching to every spot of ground.

Late after the people have gone off to their beds,

The little elves work deep inside their heads.



With their tiny little tools, they fix all the gears,

Connecting the wires from the brain to the ears.

Then they start talking away,

Until the people wake to the light of day.



The people are filled with stories from the night,

How they chased through the hills like a brave, gallant knight,

How they soared through the air like a bird so quick,

How they wonder what makes their little minds tick.



Little do they know who controls those heads,

When they are tucked away safe in their beds.

Little do they know of the silly little guys,

Who tell their stories famously wise.



The busy little creatures live to make dreams,

Of such things as the beautiful country scenes,

And of this the people are unaware,

Of this, the tiny little elves that live underneath their hair.