This poem was my very favorite as a fourteen year old. My dear friend Vivien reminded me of Pam Ayres this morning (I was unusually cruel about Vivien's new haircut and fringe and told her she resembled Ms Ayres -- too awful). But this poem is a gem.
In Defence of Hedgehogs
I am very fond of hedgehogs Which makes me want to say, That I am struck with wonder, How there's any left today, For each mornning as I travel And no short distance that, All I see are hedgehogs, Squashed. And dead. And flat.
Now, hedgehogs are not clever, No, hedgehogs are quite dim, And when he sees your headlamps, Well, it dont occur to him, That the very wisest thing to do Is up and run away, No! he curls up in a stupid ball, And no doubt starts to prey.
Well, motor cars do travel At a most alarming rate, And by lunch time you sees him, It is very much too late, And thus he gets a-squasho'd, Unrecorded but for me, With me pen and paper, Sittin' in a tree.
It is statistically proven, In chapter and in verse, That in a car and hedgehog fight, The hedgehog comes off worse, When whistlin' down your prop shaft, And bouncin' down your diff, His coat of nice brown prickles Is not effect-iff.
A hedgehog cannot make you laugh, Whistle, dance or sing, And he ain't much to look at, And he dont make anything, and in amongst his prickles, There's fleas and bugs and that, But there aint no need to leave him, Squashred. And dead. And flat.
Oh spare a thought for hedgehogs, Spare a thought for me, Spare a thought for heedgehogs, As you drink your cup of tea, Spare a thought for heedgehogs, Hoverin' on the brinkt, Spare a thought for hedgehogs, Lest they become extinct.