Francis the Little Field Mouse and His Chums

Francis,Francis,are you up,his mummy shouts

Harry and Morris want to know,if your playing out

With a big yawn,he opens his eyes

He opens his curtains and looks to the skies

With a beautiful morning,he looks all around

Vapour trails above,but he sees no cloud

He shouts down,yes mummy,tell them I'll be there

Mummy says,clean your teeth,or you'll be going nowhere

So it's off to the bathroom to scrub,scrub away

With a mirror clean finish,they'll be gleaming all day

His breakfast down the hatch,his clothes and shoes on,ball of string in pocket

He's running down the  garden path,in no time,he is gone like a rocket

Harry and Morris are at the end of the street

With their football,they pass it to each other's feet

When Francis catches up they head off down the lane

To the massive park where everyone can play

They find a good spot and use their jumpers as goal posts

Harry is the goalkeeper,as he will save the most

Short range shots,long range and headers the like

Francis and Morris try as hard as they might

But Harry is too good,they know when they're beat

Harry is good in the air and great on his feet

Harry lets the odd shot go,to make the boys feel a bit good

But an hour goes past,they hide their ball and head into the wood

Cowboys and Indians is the game that they play

And this game,played right,can last all day

Harry is the cowboy,with his brand new spud gun

Morris and Francis make bows with long bendy sticks and the string that Francis had brung

Straight sticks for arrows and feathers for flights

They go not as straight as they wanted,but for playing,they're alright

Francis and Morris go and hide in the ferns

They can see Harry looking,they watch all his turns

With giggles an cockiness,they look to each other and say

He'll never find us up here,he'll be looking all day

They forgot that Harry is cunning,he goes under hedgerows

Francis and Morris,better be on their toes

As Harry creeps up,loaded spud gun in hand

He fires a shot and hits Morris right on the hand

Francis lays still,not a word is said

Suddenly,Harry straddles over him,shouts and says,bang,your dead

Francis and Morris cheer for Harry,cos he is the winner

Francis says,I'd better go home now,cos mum'll go mad if I'm late for my dinner

The boys find their ball hid under some leaves

And follow the dusty path that takes them out of the trees

Same time tomorrow,Harry says to his friends

Grinning he says,tomorrow, you might just make amens

Waving to the boys Francis disappears down his garden path

Mummy shouts out to Francis,come on in,daddy's running you a bath

Bath time done and PJ's on

And think of tomorrow,to have more fun