Great are the piths

There's a rumour that there are lions in snowdonia
If you hop skip bump, you can make them jump
There's a rumour about to start that loch ness was an import
It travelled from the sea via sky and air

It tried to battle with the mountains
But they burst its heart and it bled into a hole
Apparently there's a mist in a wood somewhere
It never leaves even in the arid sun

Its purpose is to get noticed
And to moisten the imagination
The lichen and the moss took a liking to it
It hangs beneath the willow who shouldn't really be there

This is no place for a weeper

There's a brook that you can drink from
It's supposed to make you wealthy
But if all else fails
It'll make you healthy
It'll charm you healthy