the armadillo

i was taking compass bearings for the ordnance survey

on an army training camp on salisbury plain

i had packed up my theodolite

was calling it a day

when i heard a voice that sang a sad refrain: 'oh

my darling armadillo

let me tell you of my love

listen to my armadillo roundelay;

be my fellow on my pillow

underneath this weeping willow

be my darling armadillo all the day.'

i was somewhat disconcerted by this curious affair

for a single armadillo

you will own

on salisbury plain

in summer

is comparatively rare

and a pair of them is practically unknown

drawn by that mellow solo

there i followed on my bike

to discover what these armadillo

lovers would be like: 'oh

my darling armadillo

how delightful it would be

if for us those silver wedding bells would chime

let the orange blossoms billow

you need only say 'i will'-oh

be my darling armadillo all the time.'

then i saw them in a hollow

by a yellow muddy bank

an armadillo singing to an armour-plated tank

should i tell him

gaunt and rusting

with the willow tree above

this - abandoned on manoeuvres - is the object of your love?

i left him to his singing

cycled home without a pause

never tell a man the truth

about the one that he adores

on the breeze that follows sunset

i could hear that sad refrain

singing willow

willow

willow down the way;

and i seemed to hear it still

oh

vive l'amore

vive l'armadillo

'be my darling armadillo all the day

be my darling armadillo all the day.'