They came from the river one dark stormy night,
And skulked in the cellar away from the light.
They oozed up the staircase a-slithering and sliding
And sniggering and sneaking and girning and gliding.
And some were jet black, some brown and some grey
As they sniggled and snuffled in search of their prey.
They spurned the lamb hot pot and platter of fish,
And even ignored the chef's signature dish.
Then, as one, they attacked. One swift merciless grip,
Till every invader had found a top lip.
And there they'll remain till Movember is through,
Then head back to the river. I've got one – have you?
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