At an Old Folks Home near a moonlit beach
where once the Bong-Tree grew
live the faded Cast from a tale long past
of a pea-green boat’s ex-crew.
Now Puss and her Owl and the ring-nosed pig
and the turkey who’d lived on the hill
slump, mute, in the gloom of a damp Day Room
all wizened and vacant and still.
And they wait for the high-spot of their lives
when, every day about noon,
they are fed on mince and mashed up quince
by a Nurse with a runcible spoon.
And as I sang their song to them
I could see that none of them knew
it recalled the scene and how they’d been
in the days when the Bong-Tree grew.
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