High above the ground--
In quaint little houses
Hard for the eye to see...
We're good at camouflage,
Hiding is our protective shield--
The force that saves
When they come a-looking...
We've become accustomed to this way of life,
Unseen and afraid, cursed
This small stature betrays us,
But we live on,
Proud, even in our misfortune.
Our power may fail,
The enemy quick to prevail
And though it seems our demise
Is the only fate in the looking glass,
We falter not in our diligence--
Our beauty will always grace these trees
And here we hide,
Protected under the cover
Of ever grateful leaves.
