Swans do not like him!

Swans do not like my son Steven
Wherever he goes, near or far
If there’s a pond or a lake there
Then that will be where the swans are.
I don’t know if he gives off an odour -
No, no I’m not saying he smells! -
Or if it’s his voice and his cadence
That seems to set off alarm bells.
But if there’s a swan in the distance
Which spots him, it begins to hiss
And sets off half running , half flying
And aims for his face, doesn’t miss.
So he’s bleeding and yelling and cursing
And the swan has his nose in its grip.
Its wings are still flapping to keep it airborne,
Its neck flailing just like a whip.
Then we spot that its mates are all coming
To take up the cause so we flee …
After pulling the swan from poor Steven
And going in search of a cup of tea.
We agree that our next little venture
Will be to the hills or the coast,
Where the gulls and magpies will not peck out your eyes
And will just nick your sarnies at WORST!

Jean Taylor