That Piece of Grass

That piece of grass so trim and neat
never trodden, by soles of feet
with flowers growing in a row
around a flagpole, white as snow.

Every morning, every night
the duty ‘Bods’ appear in sight
to blow a whistle, clear and loud
and raise or lower the ensign proud.

Every day, this goes on we know
so be alert for that whistle blow
for if you don’t stand still, it’s said
the SWO will get you, so use your head.

Now when you pass that piece of turf
move quickly on, don’t lose your nerve
look straight ahead, don’t you slow
or he will get you. Who? You know.

Copyright © Mike Hillier 1990 to 2000

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