Mrs Wintridge wore a beret
waddling along the street,
tatty coat with missing buttons
ragged slippers on her feet.
In her garden was a fountain
where the birds would come to play,
Mrs Wintridge didn’t like it
screamed at them to go away.
Then she fell into the water
all the birdies gathered round,
saw her splash and cough and splutter
chirped while Mrs Wintridge drowned.
Fathered friends are bathing daily
drinking water as they will,
in that fountain in the garden
where a berets floating still.
Copyright© Alan Gilbert 2011.
Copyright© Alan Gilbert 2011.
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