Her table-cloth hung on a bush to dry.

A little lizard creeps from out his crack

To bask in sunshine till he’s done quite brown;

A butterfly starts on her breathless track,

Her errand gay, to lure a lad from town;

Even the garden’s foe, the slimy snail,

Leaves on the walk an iridescent trail.

Fat Doctor Robin now comes hurrying by,

His neat attire touched up with claret vest.

“Important case!” I see it in his eye.