So there I was,
under our fig tree,
stretching, bending, and "oh can I reach that one",
.... "and these two"...
....and "oops, that one squelched a bit",
.... and "wow this bowl is getting heavy".
But I can't put the bowl down,
because the dogs are also fig hunting,
and they will have those figs away from the bowl tout suite,
and down into their tums
they will go,
to then make a return from the other end,
in the form
this current situation having been going on
with little poo-ey piles dotted everywhere,
So there I was,
deep in the essence of the fig tree.
What 'essence' is that?
I don't know,
it just is.
And as I was being thus moved,
I espied a difficulty
at the bee hive.
This is the 'difficulty'...
just in front of the grill,
that humungous orange thing,
an Asian Hornet,
waiting to pounce,
and take away up into the air,
one of our honey worker girls
With loud voice did I yell "Lester",
and that mighty hunter of flies,
strode manfully to the hive
and did smite that Asian Hornet
stone cold dead,
with his fly swat,
which he have been practising all summer with,
on every single fly
which had dared to enter the house.
And I found myself being regretful for the bad humour,
which oft I had fallen into,
especially if I got inadvertently swotted as well,
as the fly cull went on and on,
It having been a very long hot summer,
and flies tend to land on me,
it is my pinny you see,
carrying the aroma of all that cooking I do,
that is what attracts them to me,
and Lester will thwack them,
so I get thwacked as well.
Not to worry,
the sting soon goes,
and it is all done with good humour,
Four dead Asian Hornets,
that is the count so far,
we shall continue to fight the fight.