Once upon a ticky-tack
a pocket full of gin
here we come wassailing
won't you let us in?
fickle crickle swamp song
where moose and kittens play
twirling round jewelry box
the ballerina at bay
no time for counting
nor making words come out right
let verses go sailing
in Honah-Lee tonight
no more sense making
I'm sick of clarity
pomp and pomposity
Want some mulberry tea?
You shall be mother
I poured out last time
Let us raise pinkies
skip lemon and try lime
oh yes please, and treacle
said my dolly Prue
I love how you think
my good friend and true
(Prue can never get enough treacle. Or rhubarb sauce on scones.)
went rummaging we two
in nursery larder found
half-eaten Hob-Nobs
when Nanny wasn't around
along with the mud pies
we'd put in to bake
a vase of stolen flowers
too bad there was no cake
Clive the cat brought a
dish to pass of mouse deceased
not to hurt his feelings
we added it to the feast
(on an old plate which
we neither of us touched.
And which was for the best as
Clive was feeling a bit growly-possessive
so we left him to it)
Anthrax be damned.
sick the author feels
at this unorthodox tea
don't mention jellied eels
Tea with lime and treacle
the grown-ups scoffed at us
what a daft thing to play
just preposterous
Probably best not to
bring up Clive's repast
bring it up is what
they'll do and do it fast
they were right of course
a mad hatter recipe
was quite horrendous
Our Monstrosi-Tea
but we et (sans mouse)
Just to prove them wrong
when did grownups cease
to hear their child song?
Now Prue feels poorly
so she was laid to rest (sleep!)
in pine needle counterpane
prayed her soul to keep
now I'm all alone
don't know what to do
I should jolly well
like to play with you.
(to be continued)
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