Harvey’s Hutch

                                            Harvey’s Hutch

Now Harvey he was our white rabbit
in my childhood home near old Sniggery Wood.
I brought him a newt in my pocket,
thinking all creatures friends through small brain and blood,
but Harvey he just would’nt have it,
he sniffed up his nose and the newt sped away.
I stood in mud in my wellies
in my brown coat and shoes I had on to play.
While friends watched Popeye on tellies,
I fished for a whale to put on Harvey’s tray.

I wanted to be Davy Crockett,
if not him Ivanhoe, maybe Robin Hood.
My cart shot by like a rocket,
proud of its four pram wheels, it looked really good.
Summer was for kites and cricket,
leap frog, rounders, chase, tick and go hide and seek.
Our fun fair needed no ticket,
we made sure every day went on for a week.

The old witch who lived in the cottage,
her front gate always shut, we never went near.
In winter I ate bowls of porridge,
the cold air cawed with crows is all I could hear.
Our patch of rhubarb and cabbage
was nibbled by caterpillars and spiders.
We judged all things good or garbage,
played with our dinky cars, flew wooden gliders.
To Harvey I gave a carrot,
he was bright as a pearl among spinning tops.
No longer toys on my carpet,
but in his back garden hutch Harvey still hops.


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