(An inferior homage to the original of that master wordsmith, Benny Hill)

 

The crocus and the hostas raise your mother’s memory

I recall the vile old crow cos she looked like a hoss to me

The cowslips bring back memories where they’re planted in the grass

The daft bat fell there; I said “That fat cow’s slipped on her arse”

We’d hide behind the cedar when I’d see’d her look for me

Then we carved a heart upon the bark of your mother’s sycamore tree.

 

The image of the broad beans and the peas comes back to me

She’d got lost in the long grass where she’d been to take a pee

When at last we found her what a roasting I had got

She said we’d not looked hard enough; I said “She’d lost the plot”.

But the scent of mint says our love was meant to be

So we carved a heart upon the bark of your mother’s sycamore tree.

 

She furiously threw at me my Pentland Javelin taters

I’d never have no peace from her, for ever she would hate us

We struggled in the onion patch and in my prize shallots

Until at last she was subdued and I said “That’s your lot!”

You swore your love was ever true me

So we carved a heart upon the bark of your mother’s sycamore tree.

 

We sit beneath the pear tree now, where I admire your bush

Enjoying peace and quiet now there’s just the pair of us

The sycamore I planted and the golden conifer

She’s buried underneath it; I got sick of more of her

You swore your love was ever true me

So we carved a heart upon the bark of your mother’s sycamore tree.