Fred, the dead red squirrel,
said to me one day
(from a dream, obviously),
‘I do miss the natter
of everyday chatter,
hazelnuts in batter,
and porridge oats.’
We have these sort of conversations,
in which I oft reply,
‘Dead Fred, you are in my head,
do you mind if we kept it sen-sibble?’
‘Not at all, old chum,’
(he sounded cheerful, but looked glum)
i’It’s all fine by me.’
and then he gave my inner ear
a quick nibble.
