A little boy was outside playing in the dirt.
With trucks and cars and a ball cap on, with mud upon his shirt

He vroomed and growled, making a noise like engines sometimes do
Spinning the wheels in the muck, skid marks became like new

He pulled his little cap down to shield his little eyes
The sun was bright, shown through the trees, in clear blue sunny skies

He became bored, and with a frown, he looked over to his right
“What’s that he squealed, an ogre sure!” pretending to be a knight

He grabbed a stick and swung to wallop the ogre that stood tall
He pretended he was much bigger and no longer very small

He hit, and he attacked the big old hairy giant
Knowing full well that to survive, he would need to be defiant

The ogre snapped back and, with a hiss, slapped his skin
The boy cried out a yelp and promptly grabbed his shin

He stabbed the ogre with a wretched force that most good sirs would lack
Hit the beast with his sword and gave him a good ole sturdy whack

The ogre fell down, a dying fall; the knight had finally won
He turned his cap and sat on the ground, taking a break from all his fun

His mom came out from inside the house and kissed his little knee
Hugged her little boy and yelled, “What happened to my tree!”