My son aged three fell in the nettle bed
Bed seemed a curious name for those green spears
That regiment of spite behind the shed
It was no place for rest. With sobs and tears
The boy came seeking comfort and I saw
White blisters beaded on his tender skin
We soothed him till his pain was not so raw
At last he offered us a watery grin
And then I took my hook and honed the blade ---