A gentle breeze touched on the trees
And then it tore them down,
There’d be no simple sights to see
In this old hollow town.

The town of Crumble came to be
When stars all glanced away,
When they looked back a town of three
Had sprouted from the clay.

Young Tacker was the biggest seized
Out of the living soil,
The other two were modest bees
In search of flower spoils.

The town of Crumble sat like dew
On clay from which it came,
Its purple twists of red and blue
Leaped like a living flame.