I have ants
In my pants.
But they'll stay;
It's nature's way.
Sheep can forage
Mongst my borage
Cause it grows
Between my toes
On English soil
Where we toil
Over pottage boil
And don't despoil
The natural scene
Little chooks
And and cows and sheep
Are all my friends
Must make amends
For nasty slaughter
It boils my water
Makes me cross
Such a loss!
Who is boss?
Who gives a toss?
Not the hoggett
In his stall;
You've took his balls.



(I wrote that while the kettle was boiling, Wavey - I dearly hope you haven't expended any more time and energy on your own efforts.)