Old Custard

I'm an aged, battered garden gnome,
Looking for an old gnome home,
'Cos I've just been moved out of sight,
Behind the rhubarb, and it's not right.

I'm not good enough now you see,
After all these years, they're sick of me,
But for this they will atone,
Must think I have a heart of stone.

If they look closely they would see,
A lot of their life is writ on me,
The chip from my ear, a bit from my nose,
Completely lost two of my toes.

Usually the centre of childish battles,
Very often the object of savage tackles.
Every kind of ammunition
Has been aimed in my direction.

Whether enemy or not,
I always seemed to cop the lot,
But it never worried me,
I felt part of the family.

I've been dressed up in funny clothes,
Had all sorts shoved up my nose,
I'll admit the dog became a pain,
In fact it left a permanent stain.

My coat was yellow, so was my hat,
They named me Custard because of that,
Over the years I've weathered to grey,
But it does not mean I have feet of clay.

My plight shall be known throughout this land,
From the rhubarb old Custard is making a stand,
I know I'm not very pretty or stately,
But have they looked in the mirror lately?

Of course with time, I know I must
Crumble slowly, and turn to dust,
But I'll go with dignity and style,
Not dumped on somebody's rubbish pile.

Copyright; Nadia Simpson