A little man, an Irish man
Quite small and frail and meek
Went out each day a long, long way
For miles he’d walk each week

Along the road, his poor back bowed
All round the world he went
He wanted work, no job he’d shirk
Though small and frail and bent

Among the trees, far from the seas
In Canada he stopped
There held by twine he saw a sign
This woodland would be cropped

“tree fellers?” “Now!”, “I’ll shew them how!
Though I am only one”
“I’ll fell them all, just watch them fall
Yes I’ll soon have them gone”

With big broad back the lumberjack
Laughed at little Pat
And with a smile, he said “A trial?
Yes, shew us what you’re at”

He turned to stare, as through the air
The cry of “Timber” rang
Where Pat did stand, axe in his hand
Two trees came down, Bang! Bang!

The lumberjack his jaw fell slack
He gazed at Pat in awe
“When you’re so small, how did they fall?
You’ve done this job before”

What could he say? For far away
Pat had learned to fell
Where in the heat it was a feat
As Pat began to tell

“Atacama and Sahara”
“When the trees were big and fat!”
But Jack said “Please, there are no trees…”
“Not now they’re not!”, said Pat