Got up this morning
tea on toast and ribbons
gold ridden asses playing in the lawn
I believe something must be wrong 

Discount stores won't take my cash
and all my nylons are gone
your soul hanging on a bough
for me to know?

Dear me, mind me none
but all my thoughts are askew
wrong or right though
I cannot know

Leads the way, the urchin
keeps playing with my earlobes
twinkles happy eyes
at my poor fate

Nothing here, all elsewhere
mints bent on hiding 
and leaves fiddling
pots to wash but no gold

Go, go, itch, itch
scurry, skivvy 
darn folks, dear moths 
who am I today?