While walking one day on the heath,
I saw something glisten. Beneath
An old chestnut tree,
And staring at me,
Was a brand new, complete set of teeth.
I'd give all my stock and debentures,
To learn of the arcane adventures
By which twist and turn
These strange oral furn-
ishings came hither, namely these dentures.
I've studied dontologists screeds,
And learn that once from the mouth freed,
They often will tug
Themselves from the mug
Where they're stored, and escape here to breed.
I'm told that the locals at night
Will use ultra-violet light,
And lure them with rashers,
And net those wee gnashers
Whenever they come for a bite.
So if at the eve of the day,
You venture out Beaulieu Heath way,
And hear a strange clacking,
It's no-one attacking
You, simply those choppers at play.
Note for foreigners, BBC presenters and Scots girls who read out my credit card statements: Beaulieu pronounced Bewlee.
Tuesday, July 30, 2002