Aliens Landed in Ballykilduff
Aliens landed in Ballykilduff,
Aliens landed; that is a fact,
In the dark of the night it happened, it did,
At the end of my garden they landed, then hid.
Breda, dear Breda, wake up, will you please?
Something is happening and I am all in a tizz!
Leave me alone, she answered, I’m beat,
Having said that to me she fell fast asleep.
Donning my gown and slippers I left,
Her sleeping in bed as into the kitchen I crept,
Searching for light, the torch, my best friend,
I opened the door and into the garden I went.
Towards the end of the garden with my torch I progressed,
Then I climbed over the fence into the field with its guests,
Pointing my torch, I rained light upon them,
Aliens a plenty around a spaceship humming.
What are they doing? I wondered out loud,
Signalling my place, my location – and how,
Pointing their guns, the Aliens zapped me with rays,
Blue, yellow and green, orange and grey.
Thinking my time was finished, all gone,
I fell to the ground awaiting the anon,
Sorry about that, one of them said helping me up
We thought you were a cow wanting to eat us all up
What are you doing? I asked with curious eyes,
Seeing them cutting the grass, then taking it inside,
We are refuelling our spaceship, he told me quite proud,
We get one light year per armful, he said out aloud.
That’s amazing, I said, can I go see inside?
Sorry, he answered, it’s too small for your like,
Laughing, I asked if there was anything they need,
Yes, he told me forthrightly, can we have some tea?
Tea? I asked, you drink tea way up there,
In outer space, with its atmosphere rare?
No, silly, he replied, it’s to pour down our boots,
We never travel with them empty, forsooth.
You pour tea down your boots? I laughed out loud,
What does it do, make you fly like a bird?
It does, he told me, how did you know that?
Was your mother or father an alien, or even your cat?
Just then I heard something, someone calling to me,
Gerrard, wake up, its morning; here is your tea,
Opening my eyes, I saw Breda, my wife,
Offering the cup of plenty, tea; it’s my life.
Where are my boots? I asked, still half sleep,
I want them, I need them; oh where are they please?
They are under the bed, here, she said, offering them to me,
Why do you want them before drinking your tea?
Accepting my boots, I poured in the tea,
What on earth are you doing? she asked warily,
I don’t go anywhere without filling them first,
Can I have another cup, I asked, because I sure have a thirst.
The moral of my story is this:
Don’t go anyway near Ballykilduff, GIVE IT A MISS,
Strange things are happening down that neck of the woods,
Like Aliens, and Slugs driving campervans – and Fiats to boot.
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