The rug got wet, then flung out to dry,
As I walked past, it caught my eye.
The sheep was sheared, fleece soft yet rough,
Carefully washed till clean enough.
Tanned till smooth across the back,
But supple so it would not crack.
It was proudly placed down on the floor,
In front of the chair, just by the door.
But daddy spilled a glass of water,
Followed by soup from little daughter.
So baby got cross and dropped his bowl
And juicy fruit began to roll.
Poor mother stared in sad dismay,
And didn’t quite know what to say.
So instead of words the deed was done,
Rug washed and spread out in the sun.
And there I think my story ends,
But perhaps because you are my friends.
I’d better not lie about this mat
Or carry the truth round under my hat.
Its true it was flung out to dry,
And true of course that it caught my eye.
But this is the truth you’ll know from hence
It was lichen growing on the neighbour’s fence!