The BeeI think that I shall never seeThe yellow striped pyjama beeFlitting soft from flower to flowerCollecting pollen by the hourAnd when he's done his nine to fiveHe heads back to the honey hiveA waxy pillow for his headAnd "Comb Sweet Comb" above his bed
The Seed that SeedA short sighted seedFrom a near sighted weedWas losing his sight by the hourThen a sudden ideaHit him right in the earAnd he knocked himself out on a flower!He would rummage the greenhouseThe sun-house, the outhouseAnd eat all the carrots he found.He ate carrots galore'Till there weren't any moreAnd he sprouted himself off the ground!He ate and he ateAnd it got very lateAnd the sun went to bed far awayHe walked out to the park.But in spite of the darkThe young seed could see clear as day!And when he had grownHe had seeds of his own(Although several were eaten by parrots)Through the night he would sproutAnd all night he would shout"I can seed in the dark 'cos of carrots!"
I thought...I thought I'd write a little rhymeTo say something to youI tried to make it sound like KeatsBut that just wouldn't doSo then I tried like TennysonBut he's just not my styleAnd when I tried like ShakespeareI really had to smile!I tried to write like WordsworthAnd got in quite a stewSo now I'll write it just like meAnd say that "I love You"
Mr FoxMr Fox had a garden"I do beg your pardon"Said Rabbit, who trotted right through it.Fox picked up the bunnyThen dipped it in honeyAnd said "Shall I boil it or stew it?"
Watching GloryWatching GloryOver the top we boldly cameWith sharpest eyes to guide our aimKnee deep in the mud of shameWith Generals watching.Marching on with foot and horseBarbed wire crossing every courseA giant unrelenting forceMachine guns watching.Uncles, brothers, fathers, sonsFell shredded by staccato gunsAre we now the lucky onesSurvivors watching?And who were we supposed to thankArtillery or heavy tank?As bodies all around us sankWith no one watching.