The Cardy

In a street in Northumberland,
Much like another
Lived a girl and her wants
With her poor frazzled mother.

Now this girl, with her wants,
Could be often quite mardy
This particular day
It was over a cardy.

It appeared in her mind
That she was mistreated;
Deprived and hard done by,
Her wardrobe depleted.

She stamped and she stomped
And she made a big noise
Till at last her poor mother
Removed all her toys.

'What on earth are you doing?'
The spoilt urchin cried,
They are mine, you can't take them
I can't be denied.

But her mother (now calmer)
Began to remove
Armfuls of dresses,
A big point to prove.

When we look in your wardrobe
There are hundreds of things
From fancy new outfits
To dress ups with wings,

If you spend all your time
On the things that you've not
Then you stop being grateful
For things that you've got

So you've really no need
To feel sad and get mardy
When you've so much around you,
You don't need a cardy!