The armadillo

I was taking compass bearings for the Ordinance Survey
On an army training camp in Salisbury Plain
I had packed up my theodolite, I 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
I 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'amour, vive l'Armadillo
'Be my darling Armadillo all the day
Be my darling Armadillo all the day.'