I am Henton, proud and smart,
Recently dressed with the painters art,
Prim and proper, I can be seen,
Suitably placed on the edge of the green.
I watch the visitors passing by,
Some, they come inside,
Especially when the music plays:
‘Oh Lord, with me Abide.’
I’m always prim and proper,
As a mission house should be,
With flowers upon the altar,
And cushions for the knee.
Aunt Leagrave, she sits next to me,
We often have a chat,
On how the seasons going,
It’s generally this and that.
She’s getting rather elderly,
And slightly down at heel,
She’s forever asking builders,
To improve her sex appeal.
No doubt another face lift,
Will come along in time,
But she’ll never have an overcoat,
That’s half as smart as mine!
The other side is Garston,
Separated by the hedge,
I cannot stand his smoking,
It puts my teeth on edge!
The nasty smuts they fly aloft,
Along with a horrible smell,
They drop all over my nice new coat,
(But I dare not ring my bell).
He’s quite a noisy neighbour,
Not genteel at all,
Smokes and pants throughout the day,
(Then peers around the wall!)
I generally just ignore him,
With his crass and brutish ways,
But just to say when speak I must:
‘How are you these fine days?’
But when the nights start drawing in,
And season’s end is nigh,
The harvest starts to gather in
The barley, wheat and rye.
That’s the time that I like best,
The time I primp and preen,
The time when all is gathered in,
And harvest bounty seen.
The loaves and stoups, the fruit and flowers,
The product of the land,
The means and ways to feed us,
By some bountiful Great Hand.
The floor is swept, the organ plays,
Come children, squire and spouse,
They’ll still be plenty left to feed,
The resident harvest mouse.
After Harvest things are quiet,
Visitor numbers fall,
Jack Frost is nipping at the toes,
At the approach of Winter’s thrall.
There’s only two more things to pass,
Before New Year is seen,
The civilised sounds of Christmas –
And: Bloomin Hallowe’en!
Bryn the Bard