I’d like to tell a little rhyme
About a boy who’s eight or nine.
A happy child he'd laugh and joke.
Unfortunately he always spoke.
He'd talk for hours about a tree
And longer still about his knee.
He'd talk to everything in sight,
Even my fridge and plastic knight.
I once was told he'd talked non-stop,
For 2 long days to an old mop
Telling it about his school
And all about a swimming pool
I’ve wondered if at night in bed,
His tong was still inside his head.
But I doubt as much, he'd talk in sleep
About the sea and a mountain sheep.
His sisters asked with pleading eyes
Could I fill his mouth with pies.
I saw his look and had to wait
Could not do that, cause Sam’s my mate.