There`s nowt like picking conkers Alone and only me - Shiny, smooth and lovely brown Underneath a tree - Lying in the lush, green grass And hiding out of view - Smiling in the sunlight And wet with morning dew. It`s just like seeing gold to me - Each gleaming, polished prize, Wonderful to hold and feel And a marvel to my eyes. I put them in my pockets And none will I divulge And then keep on collecting them Until my pockets bulge And when I`ve got enough of them I take them off back home To share among the grandkids - The ones that haven`t grown. We count them out in equal shares And put them in a bag So they don`t stretch their pockets And make their trousers sag And afterwards they take them off And keep them in the shed - In a corner or a drawer Or underneath the bed. And that`s the last we see of them For another year or so - They always end up in the bin Or scattered on the floor. But I love collecting conkers - They`re magic to behold A sweet delight for mortal sight Whether young or old. I gather them each Autumn And keep them for a bit - Not for any reason But just the sake of it.
Posted on: Fri, 12 Sep 2014 17:40:34 +0000