Do you know what
Really hits the spot,
When in the chair that I’ve got,
When it isn’t too hot,
With no flies to swat,
With the cat on the trot,
And the birds caring not,
On my favourite plot?
–
Traffic out of earshot.
A garden within eyeshot.
In my own Camelot.
It is there that I squat,
Ignoring the rot,
Not caring a dot,
Or even a jot,
In limbo somewhat…
–
I do it a lot!