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Not often do we hear our Mum shout out crude swearing words,
but when the fruits in season she does get nasty with the birds.
Tying foil amongst some plastic bags to rustle in the breeze,
and for a few short ripening days, keep the birds out of the trees.

John frowned at Mum and said to her, "Your killing off my fun.
Last year you made me go down there and shoot 'em with my slug gun".
Mum glared at John remembering. "That gun don't come out, understand!
I'll not have you shooting ice-cream sticks out of little 'Bruceys' hand".

So we helped Mum tie bits and pieces onto trees laden with fruit;
squeezing some to see if they were soft 'cause that's when they taste beaut.
We had the nectarines and figs all done, plus plums and apricots,
but she hadn't quite worked out a way, for the strawberry garden plots.

"Leave that to me" said Johnny. "I'll work out something wait and see.
You lot go back up to the house; blackbird's won't get far with me".
John wandered up with-in an hour, and from his attacking plan,
he called Mum to the back door holding, two dead birds in his hand.

"Lord" Mum said, "You've killed them! I want you to scare the birds away.
What have you done you callous brute", then Johnny turned to say
"Come down and I will show you". We followed to the garden bed
to see how John saved the strawberries, and killed the bird’s stone dead.

"See!" John grinned. We looked puzzled; there's nothing different here.
John pointed out with his creation; the birds had naught to fear.
Then little 'Brucey' bending down, picked a strawberry big and grand,
then screamed out and scared us all - when a rat trap grabbed his hand.

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