The leaf-miner moth brings disaster:
The horse-chestnut faces its doom –
To lose all our conkers is perfectly bonkers.
God help the horse-chestnut to bloom.
Cripes and sic semper tyrannis,
The horse-chestnut’s certain to melt:
Holding on to our conkers, my friends, is pure bonkers:
The moth’s cards have all been well-dealt.
The leaf-miner moth’s a grim geezer;
He’ll turn the horse-chestnut to slime –
We’d be, golly, bonkers, to let go our conkers:
Save the blimey horse-chestnut in time!
I’m pro conker but also pro moth,
And the tree’s an old chestnut, cui bono?
Best not to be bonkers, they’re merely our conkers,
And a leaf miner’s never a no-no.
A moth’s not a conker, to sum up,
Nor a conker a moth. Let’s unsex it:
Things upon wings, or things upon strings?
In conclusion, I’m voting for Brexit.