What!? Surbiton is upon Thames too you know
life is not a bad crack there
strolling along Queens Promenade
with October's nip in the air.
The children are in the alley
girls skipping hot potatoes
while the boys hit sixes at cricket
trying hard not to break any windows.
Now the Star of Surbiton is a climber
tenaciously she clings to her host
not quite pure white her petals
her anthers each one, a lavender ghost
all crowned upon by a soft pink corolla
a passion flower like no other
she is the true queen of suburbia.
A Tolworth lassie is crying
she has learned that nettles sting
it is no good you showing your brother
he cannot do anything
better to take it to Mummy
she knows all about dock leaves
and comfort and soft words too
while the mucky cure relieves.
You have never hurled a snowball there
or caught the bus to Hook
young ladies ought not to climb drainpipes
to lay over skylights to look
people down there are busy
life is carrying on
she is mistress of all she sees
the true star of Surbiton.