Wily walrus left all at sea by panic buyers

‘The time is ripe,’ the

Walrus said, ‘To talk of many a thing: Of toilet rolls and PPE And jabs that often sting. We’ll speak of herd immunity, Of lockdowns and what’s more We’ll catch a plane and

spread the word To every foreign shore.’

The carpet fitter sadly smiled. ‘Forgive my hesitation. I’ve had the ping and now

I’m doomed To suffer isolation. It’s made me think, the way

things are It’s quite unwise to roam. I reckon in the future I ought to work from home.’ ‘In that case,’ said the Walrus, ‘We’ll have a feast instead. Let’s go and wake the oysters Who sleep in the oyster bed.

We’ll charm them with

our singing, And tell them fairy tales, Then scoff them all on

buttered bread. I find this never fails.’ ‘But the oyster beds

are oysterless,’ Declared the carpet fitter. ‘The panic buyers bought

the lot.’ His tone was harsh and bitter. ‘They’ve taken all the crabs

as well, And every flippin’ prawn. There’s nothing left except

the sea — And that’ll be gone by dawn!’ ‘It seems it’s time,’ the

Walrus sighed, ‘To end my southern stay. I’ll set off home this evening.’ He wiped a tear away. ‘But without my oyster feast, And with all this weight to tote, I haven’t got the strength

to swim — So I’ll have to borrow a boat!’

Michael Shenton, Bournemouth, Dorset.