ContentsAcknowledgementsLeaves Are Like Traffic LightsFight To The DeathTrees Don’t Go To School The Time-Travelling LeafAutumn RhythmsTop Secret Weather Report [Decoded]Guy Forks Leaf SongMy Brother The TreeThe No-No BirdHare PieceThe City Breathing Easy Beyond Beleaf DecemberWinter Garden Birds SledgeWinter CookbookOakWinterToo Late ResultsImagination ThiefThe Gold-Leaf GangsterWhat A Lark!A Fussy RiddleKeep Out!Arrest That Tree!Rhythm Of The DayThe Rubbish ManRiddle-Me-ReadThe Magician The Hills Are Alive With The Sound Of KnittingI Know That You Might Think It OddJourney Of A TreeWater-Cycle AlderThe Last Tree In The WorldThe Safest Place In The WorldPigeonNo Skateboarding Allowed Ballad Of The TreesRain SongDambustersThe Old MansionForest Fire, GreeceLoop The LoopSummer SwimSunsetTide & SeekNight & DayRiddle Me TimeForest SchoolForestry Commission Meeting MinutesSlash & Burn1. Lift That Leg, Doggy!2. The Tree’s ReplyA Very Thin RiddleA Tidy PoemSelloutSuperfastThe Whole Wide WoodChantAnswers To Riddles

Andrew Fusek Peters’ poems, like the man himself, have always been great performers — they make you stop and listen. These new poems do all that and more. They make you listen and look, look at the natural world around you. And they leave you thinking when they go.

Andrew Fusek Peters' poems, like the man himself, have always been great performers - they make you stop and listen. These new poems do all that and more. They make you listen and look, look at the natural world around you. And they leave you thinking when they go. -- Philip Gross Your zaniness reminded me of Eddie Izzard! -- C. Jones, KS2 class teacher

The Old Mansion The house stands still like a solitary crane In a pool of deep green grass. The windows dark as thundered rain, Rooms all drowned in glass. Shadow hen, now come to roost, It pecked and gobbled the light. Here, the house is only host To the visiting fox of night. House that once held charm and chime, Now a bricked up box of air. The thief has come and stolen time, Silence dies: there’s no-one there. This house is a washed up lonely shell On the grey and windswept lea. But cup your ear and listen well To the hiss of the far off sea.