The Professor and Jollijay

There was an old professor, he was clever and no doubt,
but a nasty, bitter, grumpy, creepy man to have about!
He had no wife, he had no kids, he had no radio -
a housekeeper was all he had, the horrid so-and-so.
One cold day in December that housekeeper ran away.
The old professor was too stingy, and not just with her pay.
He fed her bread with Vim and the occasional dead mouse -
that's not enough to stay alive, let alone to clean a house.

She left the old professor to his dried-out rock-hard bread,
and not a soul in town that dreamt of coming in her stead.
The spiders spun their webs around his table and his chair.
The mice all had their babies in the drawer with underwear.
Moths fluttered round and feasted on his clothes and hat and
      beard,
and he just sat there studying, quite unperturbed and weird.

But then one day he looked out through the window for a change,
and saw his neighbors cleaning up. He found it rather strange.
The sun was shining on the pond, the grass was very green.
The kids were singing in the park - they too were squeaky clean.
And then the old professor got an inkling deep inside.
He said, "I do declare this looks a lot like Eastertide."
It almost cheered him up. He grinned and stood to stretch his
      legs.
"Well, if it's Easter time," he said, "it's time to cook some eggs."

He walked into the larder, but the larder was quite bare.
He searched in all the cupboards and he climbed up on a chair,
and right up on the topmost shelf he found one last brown egg -
he had to stretch to reach it while he balanced on one leg -
but then! How odd! How strange! How queer! How inexplicable!
That egg was emanating noise. It was a miracle.
He held the egg up to his ear and listened carefully,
and what he heard was not just noise: he heard a do re mi.

A musical egg! Impossible! The professor almost dropped.
The egg slipped through his fingers - CRACK - and then the
      music stopped.
The egg was broken, but - OH MY - that crack now opened wide,
music was not the only thing that egg had had inside.
A tiny, tiny, tiny little girl was standing there.
She had a yellow apron on and two plaits in her hair.
She curtseyed and she smiled and she said: I'm Jollijay.
She pulled a flute out of her sleeve and she began to play.

I'm sure you can imagine, that professor was struck dumb,
he couldn't think of what to say and stood there looking glum.
But Jollijay ignored him and jumped down to sweep the floor:
she scrubbed and dusted, mopped and scoured, and then she
      cleaned some more.
She found some rhubarb and potatoes growing wild
      in the yard
and really made a lovely meal, although a little charred.
The old professor ate and ate and stared a baffled stare -
and she sat on the table playing tunes without a care.

From that day on she stayed with him. It suited her just fine.
She made a hammock from a napkin, reinforced with twine.
She rode on his typewriter when she felt like having fun,
and hid behind the cupboard when she felt like having none.
At other times she sat there on his inkpot or his blotter,
and strange as it may seem, she seemed to really like the rotter.
She cooked and washed and cleaned the house and played
      her flute so sweetly,
the old professor couldn't cope: he simply changed completely.
He gave up being mean and cruel. He lost that grumpy touch.
He even started saying "please" and "thank you very much".

And everyone who lived near him was baffled and confused,
they said, "He used to glare and glower, now he looks amused."
But no one knew exactly what had happened to the man,
why he'd become so cheerful, or why his clothes were spick and
      span.
They pondered this and watched him go for long walks every day,
and hidden in his pocket was his dear friend Jollijay.