I was sat in the garden, just me, on my own,
and thoughts that came into my head
of seeds that I’d planted watered and fed
should show signs now of making a spread,
I’ve pulled out the weeds from each flowerbed,
and sprinkled on fish blood and bone,
I’ve raked and hoed round all that Ive sown,
there’s no sign of any display,
I’ve talked to each plant
“oh please little flower
let this be the hour
you will open and bloom just for me,
The rose the pansy, the little sweet pea
I would be delighted and so full of glee”
I wont be so lucky, for whats that I see?
A snail and a slug melee,
I see silver trails
Its them flaming snails
and slugs the size of the cat,
why can’t they eat weed
when they’re wanting to feed
to eat my plants there’s no need
one winked at me the cheeky brat
and his smirk was ever so wide,
he’s pushing his luck
if Ihad a duck
well he’d be eaten alive,
they think its alright to raid in the night
and feast by the light of the moon.
the monsters will go
with the help of my toe,
over the fence and real soon,
I was told tubs of beer
would keep it all clear,
and that’s not working I fear
Because they stagger about
they fight and they shout
like hooligans in full gear,
then there is her next door
who’s a bit of a bore,
with what she has sown
and what she has grown
all that will come up next year.
well there will be nothing to match
my little patch
when I transplant these beast for sure
when over they go
to my friend Flo
and see if she brags next year.
A bank with NO money, what good is that? you may ask