“There’s a Triffid in our Garden.”

There’s a Triffid in our garden,

and I don’t know what to do.

I asked it’s leave, ‘Beg pardon!’

but it refuses to let me through.

It ‘clacks’ all day,

and through the night,

and it’s a great big ugly brute,

I don’t know what it’s up to,

and it seems to bear no fruit.

.

His mate came round this morning,

they ‘clacked’ about the weather,

the football results, the price of fame,

the day they broke the tether;

then they sang a song,

a Triffid song,

all ‘boom!’ and ‘bash!’ all ‘chorus’,

it went on for hours,

made wilt my flowers,

and, personally, did bore us.

.

There are ‘two’ Triffids in our garden,

soon there will be eight,

I should have complained to the council,

but I may be a little late.

.

Well, if you can’t beat them,

join them;

I’ll sing them a jolly song,

perhaps, ‘Tubthumping’ will be just their thing

if I sing it a little long.

2 responses to ““There’s a Triffid in our Garden.”

  1. brilliant I love this

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