I have become aware that rocks and fossils I’ve collected are permeating my domestic environment. Some have found uses in the house and garden, but too many others are piling up, unsorted, in various locations.
When they’re juicy and mature, I keep my strawberries secure
With a net held down by chunks of interesting stone.
They’re too nice to throw away; so I won’t, until the day
That I trust those birds to leave my fruit alone.
And these ammonite remains? Well, they’re attractive, which explains
Why they’re sitting on my little bedside table.
In the wardrobe, near my socks, are more fossils, in a box;
They’ll get sorted out as soon as I am able.
See this doorstop, over here? It’s a Furzy Cliffs Gryphaea
Which I brought back home from Dorset long ago.
I’ve got belemnites and things, and a damsel fly’s frail wings;
I suppose I ought to set them out on show.
But, as if that’s not enough, I’ve got tons of other stuff,
Like fancy shells and pebbles from the shore.
I have found a place to store ’em, in the loft – it’s ideal for ’em.
Trouble is, it doesn’t leave much room for any more,
And these things in my possession are becoming an obsession:
It must end. Yes, I expect there will be lapses,
But the loft is now so full up that the ladder doesn’t pull up;
I must stop before the house itself collapses . . .