It’s Friday night, and the show is tomorrow
Dad’s in a panic, are the boxes all there?
Mum’s fed up, there’s more boxes to borrow
And leaves all around with no space to spare.
I’m trying so hard to not fall asleep
I must tie the bottles tight right inside
Then we’ll get up tomorrow and follow like sheep
So Dad gets his medal, and we’ll stand there with pride.
It’s daylight outside but I don’t want to rouse
Dad’s not been in bed, nor Mum I don’t think
The air is electric, the excitement it grows
But last night’s dishes are still in the sink.
The floor is a mess, it’s a carpet of leaves
But the flowers are lovely like sentries on parade
The magic he’s created like a carpet he weaves
The petals all brushed midst the beauty he’s made.
The van has arrived and the boxes are set
In tight even rows, not even a space
To squeeze in beside them for the journey to get
To Burton Town Hall, that’s that special place.
In a frenzy of movement, of people, of sound
We carry our boxes and shout, “Mind your backs!”
Our place is quite small, quite near, so we bound
To the staging with paper all stuck down with tacks.
It’s now twelve o’clock, and out we should be
’Cause the judges are coming with clipboards at ready
We don’t go outside, but hide yet to see
Just hoping we’re hidden and crouching quite steady.
The tickets are placed: first second and third
I can’t quite see where they’ve put them again
Has Dad won a medal with his vase of “incurves”
Or did they reject them and give it to Ken?
No, Dad’s won the medal all shining and new
His flowers are best and come third in the show
We can go home to dinner, then come back to view
Our treasured certificate, medal and bow.