Monday, 2 June 2014

Magic Bowl

Don’t seek here for a morsel
Sorry, it’s dry, dear squirrel
At the back of the garden
Sitting high on the wall sighing
Left ‘high and dry’ with no food
For the master ‘s on leave
Ye, crows, go else where
Don’t know about Him and
His whereabouts, ye dear
Gone ‘re those days, when
Called me as ‘a bowl of plenty’
Now left uncared for:
For the master ‘s on leave
Lonely wait here sighing
Will ye come here crying?
Ye, the father of three
Bye, bye, please take care.

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