missin aw ma pals doon in clydebank used to listen this a while ago with them now im stuck up here in aberdeen still listening to this missing all the good times 😔💚 HH

The Birds, The Bees, & The Monkees

Daydream Believer

Mam says I packed too many jumpers again,
Ma just laughs, says, “Well, that’s our man.”
Tima’s got mud up her knees by ten,
Eira’s got stickers on the frying pan.

The cabin creaks when the front door swings,
The kettle’s christened “Llewelyn the Hot.”
I burn the pasta, they all still sing,
We light a candle in a camping pot.

There’s a cricket stuck in the kettle box,
Mam says it’s luck — or possibly rot.
Ma says “Let’s just survive the night,”
Tima says “What if there’s foxes that bite?”

Foxes in the garden, don’t make a sound
Let the wind and the dark do the talking now
They leave no tracks, just a shimmered bend
Some songs you sing without knowing when

We sit outside with our socks mismatched,
Thermos tea and a sky that cracked.
Eira sees stars, Tima sees smoke,
I swear I saw the moon wear a cloak.

“Tell us a story,” one of them pleads —
Mam pulls her sleeves and begins to weave:
“There’s a fox that walks where the starlight breaks,
And he only appears when the whole world aches.”

Tima goes still. Eira’s eyes go wide.
“Do they sing?” she asks. “Or just hide?”
“Some sing,” says Mam. “But only slow.
Only for those who’ll never let go.”

Foxes in the garden, slow your breath
Hear the song in the nettle’s depth
They don’t wear shoes, they don’t leave names
They pass like dreams, and play no games

Later on, when the girls are down,
Ma’s reading, Mam’s curled in a sleepy frown.
I step out, just for air,
And the garden hums like a whispered prayer.

Two shadows flicker through lavender stems,
Bronze and bone and silent hems.
No sound, no fear — just hush and thread —
Their eyes catch mine, and nothing’s said.

I don’t call Mam. I don’t blink twice.
Some wonders don’t survive advice.
I let them pass like a rolling tide,
Just lucky I was standing outside.

Foxes in the garden, gone with dawn
But I still hear them in the yawn
Of the floorboard creak and kettle hum —
Some magic doesn’t need to come.

Foxes in the garden

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