Pottering

Some say it’s wrong to potter

Though I see no reason why

For pottering’s a lot of

Fun and helps the hours slip by

It’s far far worse to clutter

Up one’s days with idle chat

For when you have a stutter

It’s quite hard to do do that.

My bum’s not in the butter

Though I’m sometimes told it is

To which I utter utter

Tosh and mind your own damn biz

Yet when the days get hotter

How I love to go abroad

Where up the beach I totter

Like a modern day milord.

My best coat’s made from otter

And will always make me smile

I got it from a squatter

Who went on to own a pile

He liked to have a flutter

At a local betting shop

Though when he lost he’d mutter

‘Rats another ruddy flop!’

I’ve never been a nutter

Though I’ve had my ups and downs

Like landing in the gutter

After one too many rounds

At least I’m no train spotter

With a quirky turn of phrase

For as you see I’m not

Afflicted by that strange malaise.

Now being prone to potter

Gives me lots of time to think

My brain becomes the blotter

While new ideas are the ink

Our lives starts with a splutter

At the moment of our birth

Yet barely raise a sputter

As we yield to Mother Earth.