My parents have a table
It’s been there all my life
And in between the bits of wood
You might imagine that you could
Insert the blade of a knife

And if you were to do this
I think you’d be struck dumb
When you would found
Quite smooth and round
The most quite beautiful crumb

‘Twas at my seventh birthday
I was nothing but a kid
No dreams of loves
No turtle doves
You won’t guess what I did

I took a sticky biscuit
And broke off just a bit
I rolled it ‘tween my fingers
I licked off bits that lingers
And shoved it through the slit

Now Mummy Dear would be quite shocked
If she found out what Golden Locked
Little Cherub, Sweetie Pie
Wee Pet Lamb and blue-of-eye
Had gone and done and did

So there we were long years gone by
And Mummy’s little sweetie pie
Couldn’t resist a little peek
A yearning for a crumb to seek
A ghost to be got rid

I waited till the adults
Had all gone hit the sack
Then grabbed that very same big knife
And fearing somewhat for my life
Proceeded for to hack

As shards and splinters splayed aforth
And things were going well
I heard a creak from up above
It sure-as-hell weren’t no turtle dove
Sounded more like a knell

I was getting frantic now
A terrible urgence seized
I had to see that little crumb
My poor imprisoned little chum
My conscience musted to be eased

Those cursed footsteps on the stair
Were getting loud and keen
When through the slot my arm had hacked
A furry mouldy under-attacked
Little voice did growl low and mean…

“For twenty seven years I’ve snoozed
While you grim lot have woozed an’ boozed
And if you think for just one minute
That my little nest you’re gonna get in it
You’d better think again”

So relieved was I by his little speech
That for the door handle did I did reach
And as Mother entered in the room I sighed
Confident that my little pal was hide
Was happy in his den