The Rumblebean

A midget made a Rumblebean Whilst lying in the sun. It was the greenest he had seen, ‘That’s green,’ he said, ‘bar none.’ He picked it up and spected it, Implying to and fro. He felt it like some clever dick And knew what he did know. ‘I’ll plant it!’ came his voice in sound, Familiar as his face. ‘I’ll plant it in the earthy ground, And leave no digging trace.’ The midget, with a knowing look Dug deep and secret down. And using only half a hook, A conker and a frown. ‘This Rumblebean is wrapped in mud!’ He bellied on ascending. ‘The kind that turns things into wood, And letters ripe for sending.’ Then with a little stake he stuck Upon the very spot, A note made out of hope and luck, Tied with a safety knot. ‘Grow well my little Rumblebean,’ The midget shed in tears. ‘Grow up onto a might av been, And prosper through your ears.’