Mrs Wintridge wore a beret
waddling along the street,
tatty coat with buttons
missing
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.
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