Kirk’s Garden

a squirrel and four chickens

downstream from the dickens

tavern, they call it, so fair,

nosey-parker barks next door

the beer hits the floor

and the parson fell over the chair


the winter squash is back up

corn boils the cup

the blackberries are quite bitter,

the bamboo it is brittle

the end is quite little

still it makes a good hen-hitter


the water is old

the days are not cold

the chimes they blow in the wind,

the bob’s all run out

the children all shout

“let the butterflies all be unpinned!”


the cherries are sweet

dark red is the meat

the stand-alone stove is smoking,

don’t put on the pine-logs

and the hair of the dogs

the mess had got us all choking


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