I like to spend free time with friends,
Like Hilda, Liz and Seamus.
We'll waste the days on long weekends
When Liz pretends she's famous.

She won't say no to photographs,
Signs autographs for children.
Her charity for slow giraffes
Supports her state of chilled Zen.

So she says in interviews
With make-believe reporters.
When old giraffes are sent to zoos
The judge in her cat court purrs.

She gets respect in trendy clubs
And restaurants where waiters
Would part a tiger from her cubs
And threaten alligators.

Seamus drinks and eats a lot.
He seems to take great pleasure
From cream-filled cakes. He greets a pot
Of stew as if it's treasure.

Of all the local restaurants
His favourite's in the castle,
Where Jack the ghostly jester haunts
And always causes hassle.

People leave when he performs
His jokes from times gone by,
When all these dining rooms were dorms
For men condemned to die.

The scarcity of customers
Means Seamus rarely waits.
He'll eat non-stop and trust a nurse
To help when he eats plates.

Before he sleeps he'd love a bit
Of beef washed down with stout.
In dreams he's seen Liz shovel it
Into his open mouth.

On some weekends we'll go for walks
On trails through vales and hills.
In woodland Hilda's nature talks
Provide delightful thrills.

While feeling overwhelming joys
From sounds the birds and bees make
And Hilda's words, we'd hear the noise
Of Seamus eating cheesecake.

We told him he was gluttonous,
That groans came from his ground.
We had his front door shut on us
The next time we called round.

He wouldn't speak to us for weeks.
We missed the jokes he told,
The lies about his friend who seeks
An Eskimo's lost gold.

He'd entertain us with his dance
When winter rain confined us
To a house. We loved his rants
Against past lives behind us.

Without us there to hear him talk
He'd much more time to eat.
There was no dance or nature walk
To activate his feet.

He put on weight. We had to act,
To eat some humble pie,
And stop him when he felt he lacked
An apple crumble high.

We made a massive chocolate cake,
So big it's marked on maps.
It made some folk feel shock and shake
In fear of its collapse.

'Sorry Seamus' were the words
We chose to write in icing.
Seamus cut the cake in thirds
With virtuoso slicing.

By giving us a slice he said
We'd solved our friendship's crisis.
His bites seemed bigger than his head
As he devoured his slices.

When he's with us he can't consume
Each frightened piece of food.
His dancing feet fight winter gloom
And leave a summer mood.