I have a cabinet of tools,
Who rarely challenge any rules.
The hammer heads up law and order,
The tape measure controls the border.
My foreign minister’s a hoe,
Who hasn’t anywhere to go.
The secateurs control defence,
And keep the neighbours off the fence.
On Tuesdays I inspect the troops,
Three spiders marching round in loops.
The mower’s joined the rebel cause,
The gnome demands a change of laws.
I issue medals made of foil,
For loyal service on the soil.
I wear a sash of baler twine,
And drink warm squash like vintage wine.
But yesterday, at half past three,
A revolution came for me.
The gnome advanced with garden peas,
The spiders swarmed around my knees.
The mower roared—to my surprise!
A cloud of smoke obscured my eyes.
They seized my throne, my rake, my crown,
And passed a vote to bring me down.
They marched me to the compost heap,
And told me that’s where I must sleep.
My wife appeared and said, “You clot,
Have you been drinking quite a lot?”
I stood before her, proud and brave,
A statesman facing an early grave.
“My government has been betrayed!
My loyal servants have all strayed!”
She looked inside my little shed,
Then shook her weary, puzzled head.
“You’re sixty-three, you daft old fool.
Get in the house. Your tea’s gone cool.”
And now I sit, a kingeveryone
My empire lost, my borders closed.
But hear me, rebels, every one—
My political career is not yet done!
For down behind the water butt,
Beyond the hedge, beside the hut,
I’ve found a place to make my stand…
I’m now the President of Compostland!
