by | Dec 13, 2007 | Poetry | 0 comments

You can’t buy one hamster, a saying I think is true
You get them home, their pregnant, you finish up with two

Your husband goes on nightshift, they manage to get out
Behind the skirting and fireplace, and make you want to shout

We housewife’s, made of sterner stuff, can strip a mantle down
There is no need to shout for help, or fetch a man from town

Our little escapee ignores our shouts, and food with which to coax
Our husband, coming home from work, thinks it’s all a merry hoax

Is it dead, is this the end, of our small, but chubby friend
Can stripping down the skirting, be successful in the end

What was that, some movement, down around my foot?
Can it be a hamster? Covered all over in SOOT

Is the answer to this problem, to leave your mantle down?
Or better still; leave the hamster at the PET Shop in the town.


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