Scabby Knees
from We Are Poets!
© Helên Thomas, 2007

Scabby knees! Scabby knees!
Can I pick them; can I please?
They're so itchy, brown and scratchy,
Crusty, flaky and quite nasty,
Like burnt pastry on a pasty,
If I pick them Mum might catch me.
 
Scabby knees! Scabby knees!
Can I pick them; can I please?
Can I scratch them; can I pick them?
Can I pull bits off and flick them?
 
Scabby knees! Scabby knees!
I got them falling from the trees,
Onto hard ground with a thud,
Playing games of Robin Hood,
My knees would be scab free they would,
If I had fallen in the mud!
 
Scabby knees! Scabby knees!
Can I pick them; can I please?
Can I scratch them; can I pick them?
Can I pull bits off and flick them?
 
Scabby knees! Scabby knees!
Look like they've got a bad disease,
Crispy coated with dried blood,
Underneath there's gunky crud,
I would ban them if I could,
Scabby knees are just no good!