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Mike Stools
In The Park
In The Park
Oh, hark
at the lark
a-singing in the park.
Oh, joy
to the boy
out with his new toy.
He's finished his birthday trifle.
Now he's playing with his air rifle,
as through the park he walks
and seeks his quarry to stalk.
Like a gong
goes the song
of the lark among
the bushes,
while the thrushes
in their wisdom each hushes,
and alerted to his target,
like a cockney off to Margate
or even down to Brighton,
the boy's excitement heightens,
and "pop!" -
see it drop
from the tree top.
Now hark
at the barks
of the dogs in the park.
