They crawled into my knicker draw, but drew the line at cotton
sought out wooly mittens and chewed them something rotten.
Cavorted round my cashmere tops, chomped my knitted hat
made patterns in my pink silk frock so that’s the end of that.
They liked the smell of moth balls and those repellent sprays
they laughed at all my efforts that carried on for days.
I made a plan to beat them, so turned the light on quick
and jumped around with newspaper rolled into a stick
They flew into the curtains and in the folds they’d lurk
then sent out one to make a truce that sent me quite beserk
When confident, I’d got him with a bash upon his head
he came dancing down the duvet lying on the bed
I’m sure that they were laughing waiting for the lull
and thought they’d try to humour me by seeming weak and dull.
Fighting is so tiring and my best frocks still in tatters
but then it wouldn’t fit me now, so none of it now matters.
My new clothes come with moth free signs or I keep them in a packet
so the moths will die of boredom, which will stop their wicked racket.