I wish I didn’t have a worm called Potter
It seems like such a silly name
You may argue that in the lotter-
-y of life there are many things much worse
And I’m to blame.
But when I had him as an egg
He’d put out a cautious leg
And wander slowly round a plate I’d filled with earth.
But instead of Potter I’d named him David, or Nicholas or Paul,
Do you think by now he’d come each time I call?
Or if I’d had a bracelet carefully chiselled with his name,
Would he come and sit upon my lap and play a game?
You may believe the possibility is slight,
But I like to think at times he might.