The garden in summer is such a delight,
With perfumed flowers of deep colour, pastel and bright.
Sweet bird song in the air above, rich soil beneath,
It was then that I came across some mouldy false teeth.
They were on the bird table but fell to the ground,
They’ve frightened the squirrels for miles around.
Too scared to come down, they haven’t got the guts,
As they sit quivering in the treetops, clutching their nuts.
The swallows have flown south, foxy hides in a dustbin,
The old wood pigeon isn’t cooing and looking awfully thin.
And hiding away is bold cock robin, that cheeky little fellow,
Little Mr. Red Breast has now turned a shade of chicken yellow.
Those mouldy set of gnashers, at me they seem to smile,
I picked them up with two short sticks, Chinese chopstick style.
And just as I go to bin them, to end this little matter,
“Oi! Don’t do that! No, not the rubbish bin!” I hear them chatter.
Imagine my shock and surprise and the rude words I said,
Then I realised behind me was Harry, his face a subtle shade of red.
“Thank goodness you found them, I’ve looked north and south!”
He gave the teeth a quick wipe, then popped them in his mouth!
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