Volcanic ash, the planes might crash, so they no longer fly.
And up above, a greyish-blue, no engines in the sky.
No one’s going anywhere, we’re all stuck on the ground.
In Kew they can hear bird song, a most unusual sound.
The Country’s losing millions, no goods are being shifted
And that is how it’s going to be until the ash has lifted.
I want to book a holiday, but when I hear the news
I think, best not to try to fly, perhaps I’ll book a cruise.
But then there are tsunamis, giant waves and earthquakes too.
The number of disasters has increased from just a few.
And what with global warming, and the flooding that’s about,
Perhaps it’s best to stay at home, indoors, and not go out.
Apart from bits of shopping I must do around the town,
I’ll just sit in the garden in a deck chair turning brown,
And smell the pretty flowers that give off such a sweet aroma,
Whilst hoping that my freckles don’t turn into melanoma.
So beware the force of nature, because the day may come
When it turns round unexpectedly and bites you on the bum.