What a big bunch of miggeldy higgle,
caused by someone with snickerty fiddle,
small tiny things, oh how so little,
but if not done you’re caught in a hickelty pickle.
How easy to loose track, overwhelmed in the middle,
when life can become such as riggerty sliddle,
how little things become such a fiddle,
when you’re a stick not a rock in the river of riddles.
But stand a firm ground in a life full of griddle,
let it flow over, around you and sit still,
that little thing that seemed like a biggle,
will not be a bother, no miggeldy higgle.
You see you’re life’s so special, so rare and so brittle,
it’s joyful, exciting and you’re right in the middle,
once tied to the ground with the cat and the fiddle,
now you’re up over the moon, like hey-diddle-diddle.