The Pestilential Little Mouse
A sweet little thing – perhaps not!
How dare you come into my house
You pestilential little mouse
You use our home as though it’s yours
Upset us all without good cause
Disturb us as we fall asleep
With sounds of tiny running feet
Gnaw the carpets and the doors
Deposit mess across the floors
Be off with you, you little pest
And take away your rancid nest
Go back into the fields you know
Feast on seeds in furrowed row,
For there the farmer, if he sees
You munching on his fresh green peas
Or hiding in his stooks of corn
Will surely, and here I must warn,
Set his cat to seek you out
And that, I am sure I have no doubt
Will bring about the sorry end
Of you my pestilential friend
Poo-Sticks by Michael Healy
Remember: actions have their consequences
Mary Porter sat on the Bridge
Playing poosticks with Annie Ridge
Along came little Tommy Cotton
And pinched that Mary Porter’s bottom.
Mary jumped so very high
That all the poosticks they did fly
And looking up towards the sky
They hit young Tommy in the eye.
With one great yell he did leap
And lost the balance on his feet,
Fell off the bridge, and with a scream,
Went kersplash into the stream.
Help me, help me! He did cry
Annie, on her feet, said “why”?
‘I cannot swim, I will drown!
‘Oh do not be a silly clown!
Said Mary feeling very cross
‘Drowning you would be no loss!
‘O Tommy you are such a fool
I know the water’s very cool
But why not stand up on your feet
The stream is only one foot deep.
Tommy to his feet did get
Truly he was very wet.
‘Get my poosticks’ came Mary’s shout
‘Before that stream you dare climb out!
‘We want to finish off our game!
Came Annie’s comment, just the same.
‘If you don’t, it is you we throw
Back in the water and watch you flow
Under the bridge and out the side,
All six feet long and three feet wide.
The moral of this story’s clear
Dear reader if you happen near
That little bridge across that stream
Where people by the side do lean
Watching poo-sticks in the flow
Gently bobbing under go,
That lesson must not be forgotten,
Do not pinch them on the bottom!
The land of Ling-Tong Boodle
by Michael Healy
Down in the land of Ling-Tong Boodle,
Especially in the forest of Lisbet Doodle,
Lives a prehistoric land,
Where dinosaurs feed hand-in-hand.
Ling-Tong Boodle is a very dark place,
Just not fit for the human race.
With squeaks and creaks and all strange noises,
There is never the sound of human voices.
Bubbling mud and thick smelly fog,
And creatures the size of a twenty-foot dog!
Overhead flies an Archaeopteryx, looking for some prey,
Whilst a Stegosaurus lumbers along, the same route every day.
With long sharp teeth which rip its food in slices,
The Triceratops watches, a meat-chewing Ceolophysis.
I really must get away from here,
I can feel my growing, shivering fear.
But then I turn in my comfy bed,
And gradually awake my sleepy head.
My eyes open wide, it’s all been a dream
Ling-Tong Boodle? Just my nightmare’s scene.
I pull back the curtains and the sun shines for us,
What’s that on the lawn?
It’s a TYRANNOSAURUS!!!!!