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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