Rain, Rain ruled the world,
Ran every scene,
Until I got the drop on him,
Turned on the windscreen.

The wind she was a sculptress,
Sculptress of the trees,
She tried her hand at topiary,
And found it a breeze,

Breeze blew the candles on my rock cakes,
Mum took it all quite hard,
Got quite upset she did, throwing every one,
They made a crater in the yard.

The yard and his activity ground to a halt.
Why on earth was this done?
You’ll have to bet the get the radio times?
Looking to see what’s on.

© Phil Golding 24/09/2007