Our babies have arrived again.
We count them: one, two, three
Four, five, six, seven! What a chore
They’ll soon be big as me.
The green green grass of Blenheim’s lawn?
Delicious! Give us more
And keep a watch for Mister Fox
Or we’ll have only four …
Of course this year was different.
The Lake’s a sandy beach
In parts, and full of crunchy things
That we can barely reach
My husband’s plump, he keeps good watch
On people’s socks and shoes
For some, you know, would eat us fast.
We have a lot to lose
Today the sunshine’s glorious
I’m counting one to seven
I give them names, they’re all the sames
It’s pointless – and good heaven
I know the ones who’ll munch and thrive
And those who’ll waddle off
Before my very eyes unless
I give them lots to quaff.
Our babies! How I love them so,
No taller than your thumb
I tick them off, tell them “Behave!”
Say “Please and thank you, Mum.”
But when you swallow that green grass
With sunshine in your eyes
Manners don’t matter much. It’s luncheon …
That’s our prize.