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THE ARMADILLO (Flanders and Swan) I was taking compass bearings for the Ordinance Survey On an army training camp on Salisbury plain, I had packed up my theodolite, was calling it a day, When I heard a voice that sang a sad refrain: 'Oh, my darling Armadillo, Let me tell you of my love, Listen to my Armadillo roundelay; Be my fellow on my pillow, Underneath this weeping willow, Be my darling Armadillo all the day.' I was somewhat disconcerted by this curious affair, For a single Armadillo, you will own, On Salisbury plain, on summer, is comparatively rare, And a pair of them is practically unknown. Drawn by that mellow solo, There I followed on my bike, To discover what these Armadillo Lovers would be like: 'Oh, my darling Armadillo, How delightful it would be, If for us those silver wedding bells would chime, Let the orange blossoms billow, You need only say 'I will'-oh, Be my darling Armadillo all the time.' Then I saw them in a hollow, by a yellow muddy bank - An Armadillo singing ... to an armour-plated tank. Should I tell him, gaunt and rusting, with the willow tree above, This - abandoned on manoeuvres - is the object of your love? I left him to his singing, Cycled home without a pause, Never tell a man the truth About the one that he adores. On the breeze that follows sunset, I could hear that sad refrain, Singing willow, willow, willow down the way; And I seemed to hear it still, Oh, Vive L'amore, vive l'Armadillo, 'Be my darling Armadillo all the day. Be my darling Armadillo all the day.' @animal filename[ ARMDILLO RG Feb07 |
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