Magic Bowl

Don’t seek here for a morsel

Sorry, it’s dry, dear squirrel

At the back of the garden

Sitting high on the wall sighing

Left ‘high and dry’ with no food

For the master ‘s on leave

Ye, crows, go else where

Don’t know about Him and

His whereabouts, ye dear

Gone ‘re those days, when

Called me as ‘a bowl of plenty’

Now left uncared for:

For the master ‘s on leave

Lonely wait here sighing

Will ye come here crying?

Ye, the father of three

Bye, bye, please take care.