BEASTLY TALES

A PLOT FOILED

The wife of Bob Mock had arranged a country ramble,
The whole shemozzle, including spiky bramble.
They were searching for Roman ruins,
Every-which-way, over hills, gulleys and dunes.
Mock’s good lady thought they needed a better view.
“Climb up this tree,” ordered she, right on cue.
Now He was too old to be climbing trees.
The branches pressed painfully into his knees.
“Up you go, dear, you need to go higher,”
“To seek out Roman ruins, above hedge and briar.”
As Mock was struggling up knobbly branches,
Along the path on the land, owned by ranchers.
Came the owner of the property, Desmond Clodd,
He looked quite annoyed, put out, the sod!

Not knowing that Mock was high up, above,
He said to Mrs Mock, “What are you doing here, my love?”
“You know you are trespassing on private land,”
“You should be ashamed of yourself, this is not grand!”
“I’m not by nature, a whinger or a griper,”
“But for your trespass, now you must Pay the Piper!”
“Give us a kiss now, to atone for your sin.”
What happened next, made his head spin!”
A rumbling voice did come from above,
“Hold on there! Do you need any help my love!”
Desmond Clodd now decided to quickly withdraw.
Mock, far up the tree, he never saw.
“Just a jest, my dear, never you mind,”
“Go back the way you came, the exit you’ll find.”
Mock shinnied down the tree, not too fast.
The weather had become drizzly and overcast.
No Roman ruins, no ancient archaeology,
But at least, from the creep, they’d got an apology!