Out with the old,
in with the new,
as woodworm’s
poison, was so true,
but as new panels,
fell into place,
I saw his pain,
and his grimace,
for Pa’s grazed arm,
was on show,
my Mother swore,
she didn’t know,
but when he raised,
for inspection,
Ma did see,
the infection,
so, with her talons,
she did squeeze,
with little yelp,
my Father eased,
we then went out,
to see our work,
though one of us,
was somewhat hurt,
but, with a toast,
to good dear Harry,
we’re sure, that this
scar would carry,
thus in the garden,
and in our lives,
we can heal, and
indeed confide.