Little tyke
Poor little tyke,
He was a sorry sight.
His dad was at the pub,
And his mam was out all night.
He didn’t go to school,
For no-one woke him up.
And he drank from a bottle
For he hadn’t got a cup.
He learned about the dole,
For this would be his future,
From something that he stole,
A second-hand computer.
Now he sits behind his desk,
Doing what he loves.
Shuffling the papers
And handing out the jobs.
Mary Treveil,
Ardrossan Road,