“Hold your horses,”

A little bird told me,

grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“A fly on the wall says,

he used to drink like a fish,

but he’s gone cold turkey.

Now he’s happy as a clam

though lazy as a dog.

Busy as a bee

feathering his nest.

As cute as a bug’s ear

in his cat’s pyjamas,

mad as a hatter,

but quiet as a mouse,

maybe because the cat got his tongue.”

I always thought him the cat’s meow,

sly as a fox

but crazy as a loon,

a night owl willing to party

until the cows come home.