On Observer's Trail

When You Lose the Plot
Seven Lilliputians left their island
In arduous search for seven brides
Far and wide, they roamed
Over seven seas and countries, seven
Alas found none would have them
After seven more fruitless years
Long beards grown snow white
Feeble minds on boots warn out
Why only leave the island
In the first place
Worst to come yet callous men
Had little ones snared one by one
Next snap-frozen off to marketplace
Sold off as garden gnomes.