Passing into the Willow Ware
Is something I don’t often dare;
But when I arrive in Willowareland
I always wield a ready hand.

O sacred shallows, brittle sight;
The shores of Willowareland by night!

Decide to vanquish a Willoware Dragon,
In quest of the fabled Willoware Flagon;
Then out upon you come the cries
Of the Willoware Boy to him who tries.
“Rally from foliage; Rally to blue;
Cheer him on by the Light of Lue!
Give him one, two three four five;
Give him one last laugh alive!”

Then you advance with prickling spear;
With sickling gut do you go near
Over the bone-white sands you tread,
Over blue bones of trees that are dead
(Things you can’t see from the cupboard door
But once in that land, emerge galore!)
And there, behind the blue willow tree,
One little tooth sticks out, you see.
Your mama thinks it is a leaf;
Your mama, sadly, lacks belief.
It is a dragon, well you know,
for now appears the dust-blue foe!

His head sinks down with a dreadful sway,
All glimmery-glare in the Willoware way;
He rears along with smokey-blue breath
And you think of Jane, but not of death,
Lying on fallen blue and white leaves
And spearing his passing flanks, like eaves.

Still, the outcome is quite a surprise,
For no one in Willowareland ever dies
(That’s why the Willoware Boy only cries
Not to the winner, but him who tries.)
So with hoary white gasps you battle hard
With slim white arms raised upon the blue sward;
But you’ll sit down when the ladies have come
Out of the willowware they are from;

Four Ladies come in a milk-white wagon,
To sit with you boys and the Willoware Dragon
Drinking blue tea from the Willoware Flagon.

This is the stuff of my childhood - I read this kind of thing because my Mother collected old books. I can rattle it off in minutes but I’m aware that today’s child would be expected to find it boring and most likely would actually do so unless introduced to it early. I make it for delight purely.