Last Saturday, After lunch, I hurried over the Common. To the hole, In the back of the fence, Of the old grand manor.
I looked left, Then right, Then again, The coast was clear, The groundsman must've gone, Even groundsmen have dinners.
So I squeezed myself, Through the hole in the fence, And ran to the forgotten pond. It was covered in green, And purple irises grew at the sides. Damsel flies dashed about like ruby lightening.
I filled my jam jar, Carefully removing the mulch, And set it down beside me. From my satchel I drew out my net, Like Arthur drawing the sword, And swished in the water like a blade.
Left, And right - And out it came. Inside the silken folds, Was a perch, Tiny and silver,
Glittering like a three penny piece. Quickly I plopped him in the jar, Where he sank, Dazed - Before recovering from his fright, And inspecting his surroundings.
He did not seem impressed, He glared at me, As I peered in at him. I suspect that I had insulted him, To have removed him, From his murky depths.
His window to my world, Had not shown him, Anything that he desired. And I, guilty, Returned him to the secret pond, And squeezed myself back through the hole in the fence.