Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse (well, except for Barman who's watching the footy).
The lucky mascots were hung by the pc with care,
In hope that the pupillage fairy would soon be there.
Bar-Os was nestled all snug in his bed,
Whilst visions of being a 'barrister's ors' danced in his head.
And Barmaid in her kerchief and Barman in his cap (well, we are yokels),
Had just settled down for a Summertime nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
Barmaid sprang from her bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window, she flew like a flash,
Tore open the IKEA curtains and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen dew,
Gave a lustre like diamonds, such a beautiful hue.
When, what to her wondering eyes should appear,
Not the pupillage fairy, but hope, consternation, anticipation and fear.
