I write this poem by order of Fitz
Whose nerves are simply shot to bits
By Fireworks, bangs and flashes bright
He turns demented every night.
I write this poem at Noot’s request
She’s sick and tired of every pest
Who climbs the nearby Beacon, and
Sets Fireworks off – they should be banned.
I write this too, for every squirrel
(They have names – Perry, Monty, Cyril)
Who’ve said ‘We don’t like to complain
But fireworks drive us all insane’.
I write this poem for every cat
Who shrink with fear on the kitchen mat
They’d love to go outside and roam
But noises make them stop at home.
Each night, from pre-Divali through
To Advent – no-one has a clue
Just why this racket should persist
Erupting through the night-time mist?
It seems to me that autumn leaves
Brings out the worst in local thieves,
Their crime? To rob us of our rest
And animals, of their vim and zest.
How stupid do you have to be
To set off fireworks with such glee
While knowing that this very thing
Causes our best friends suffering?
In my glorious reign, I’d stop
The sale of fireworks that go pop
Have organised displays – that’s fine
Just nowhere near to me and mine.
We long for peaceful evenings, yet
Last night, the bane of every pet
Was heard in early morning hours
Like small arms fire, such that dog cowers
And shakes throughout the night ahead,
There’s little more that needs be said;
Come citizens, and have some sense,
And stop being quite so sodding dense.
Written on 5 November 2025.
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