when I'm in me garden sweeping
up the spot where i am sleeping
when me head is bowed and deep in
pensive mood
then run away and shine your shoes
to find you something to amuse
yourself with any thing you choose
will do you good.

stop. there's still a lot of paperwork to catch up with
the joneses will be dropping by for tea
bags i'll a spot of supper make you ketchup with
the scones still dripping dry for the
crops still what a caper joke and wash up with
the ones left over lagging for chinwagging over tea.

i often think as i sit knitting
up old wounds and brows and mittens
what method i could find more fitting
on to pass
to posteriority spitting
images of mankind pitting
wit against a single sitting
on the grass

but i think i've found the posy out with it
the truth of beauty full is it frequently can make you free
dumb rings around the rosy hue and cry out wolf
repentantly close your eyes and pick a card
bored stiff with mounds of airplane glue and
try out things you used to do your duty calls

you should have seen what marge was wearing
out meself but i'm past caring
half a bean if folks are staring
ships of state
serenely past the cliffs of dover
comings short generously over
looking for the moment you're on clover