Harsh shreek of the oystercatcher
Dry reed of the clarinet
Oilless engine grunts to shudder
Day of dismay is about to start

Accepted post last friday
Sub editor of a Forest magazine
Heard it may be sold, cannot burn bridges
No longer applyting, no longer keen.

Sweet sound of the bird
in keeping with its plumage
attractive to eye, dull to the ear
Dull to the eye, sweet to hear.

Wait just a moment to dampen the reed,
 Fix in tight lips, race up the scale
Open the window, let the sound venture
Over the gardens, beyond the pale.

Dip the dipstick deep in the engine
See at a glance just what's to be done
Open an oil can , careful dont spill
Now you see, a harmonious run.

Job in a million was not just to be
Wrong sort of magazine, not one for me.
But this was an opportunity which just came along
Others will follow, for sure, before long.