THE GNOME.

There's a gnome in our garage, he's made it his home,
He comes from this parish, so he's not had to roam.
He sleeps in a hammock where he gently rocks,
He has a small line where he hangs out his socks.
He only eats baked beans straight from the tin
But as he eats dozens he's not very thin.

He sings little songs as he brushes the flags.
He's quick with his needle so he's never in rags.
Sometimes we wish that he'd go away
So we rage and we yell our anger to vent
But we always say he can stay, as we have to admit
That we do need the rent.

SEQUEL.

The gnome in our garage has let out some room,
We asked him for details and we said "to whom".
The gnome said "he was homeless just like myself
So I made him a bunk bed, he's just a wee elf."

The elf sings karaoke his voice is so high
The sound of his wailing makes our poor neighbours cry,
As we can do nothing to make him relent,
We've told that mad gnome we are raising his rent.

Jill West.