At the bottom of the garden on Honeycombe Hill
There's a tree that stands very tall and still
It minds it's own business till the month of May
Then sheds it's blooms for a week and a day.
Now the blooms are so pretty as they land on the grass
But you have to beware if per chance you must pass
As the scent from the blooms wafts past your nose
And softly caresses all of your toes
The tree has a power that lasts until dawn
That can make you want to stretch and yawn
And so my friends of course you see
I speak about the Yawning Tree.
