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Mister Thomas
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A friend who's got daisies in his pocket Mr. Thomas owns a red bike And his heart flies like a kite He gives a coin to the children Who play war with wooden guns Mr. Thomas remains at home When other people go to church In his dust booked the phone Round it's edge things always emerge Mr. Thomas isn't newspaper But to me good news When the hills do glitter the river Where all things can choose My grand uncle when he sees him says "He's crazy" and starts to grin My lil' lady Prue McKinball says: "His head is made of straw" Mr. Thomas isn't newspaper But to me good news When the hills do glitter the river


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