A Brownie never shows hi’self

Nor reveals his withered face

Tho’ some might call him an elf.

No bigger than a suitcase,

With eyes as black as Grimm’s

And ears as long as fins.

And on a night

He’ll wink an eye

And draw carefully nigh.

 kith and kin asleep

And thus, the Brownie leaps

From hiding place

To tall bookcase.

The cluttered desk makes quite a sight.

The brownie surely knows it.

He’ll tip the pencil cup upright

And answer the file cabinet’s sad plight.

He’ll organize the sticky notes

And fix the disheveled banknotes.

When he has finished

All mess will diminish

And he’ll shake his hairy head in pleasure

Surely to take his awaiting treasure.

He’ll scamper down the hallway

And past an open door

To gather his long-anticipated pay

He’ll skip one step or more.

And just outside the Kitchen door

Resting on the hearth

Stands a cup of barely a smidgen

Full to brim with milk.

He’ll slurp it down

And adjust the seam

Of his poorly sewn brown jacket.

Without a racket

And barely a word

He’ll vanish.