'Rat in the Wood Shed' He came out at night flicking a penknife at the moon Someone said he used to live at number 55 He made things out of straw Things that nobody wanted He kept a mouse under his hat And scratched words into the bus shelter He wandered off sometimes for months But he always came back You knew he was there when the nets were parted And when they weren't he was forgotten. © Maria Daines/Paul Killington Photo courtesy PDPhoto.org
