There’s a little madam at our nursery,
Her name is Vicky, lovely Vicky.
But we call her a chatterbox
And a greedy-guts, for she won’t share a biscuit.
She never shares with anyone at all
And tells fibs constantly, which is a shame.
And when her birthday comes around,
She glares so sternly, as if she’s judging.
If she hands out sweets to everyone,
They turn out to be empty wrappers, I swear!
‘Well, what a greedy-guts, my friends!’ —
That’s what Sam, Zoe and I will say —
We won’t play with her any more,
We won’t invite her round to visit,
We won’t treat her to a sweet,
We won’t have anything to do with this greedy one!’
Now Vicky comes back to nursery,
‘Hello’ Adam won’t say in the morning,
Mark won’t offer her a sweet,
What’s happened here? Nobody knows.
She goes up to Zoe, who stays silent,
Kate looks on with resentment.
Vicky sits alone all day,
Wondering: ‘What is my fault?’
In the evening she goes to Mum,
Runs to Dad with a question:
‘What on earth happened at nursery?
Was it funny and amusing,
When I handed out the wrappers,
Even though I’d promised sweets.
Such a joke, simply brilliant,
For I’m such a clever girl, aren’t I!
Well now everyone walks past me,
And Millie goes right by.
And I don’t know what the reason is,
I’m a good friend, a clever one!’
Dad frowned sternly,
Mum’s gaze was like a stormy sea:
‘Aren’t you ashamed, darling?
What did you just say to me?
You say they’re friends,
But you are the greedy one, my girl!
You’ve fallen out with everyone
And what have you been left with, dear?
Nobody wants to play with you…’
The daughter burst into tears with all her might.
‘I’ve understood,’ she says.
She blames her friends no more:
She hurt them herself, all by herself.
And the fault is hers alone.
There’s a little girl at our nursery,
Dear friend Vicky,
Who won’t deceive or betray,
Will always, always share a sweet.
‘She’s changed her ways, friends!’ —
That’s what Sam, Zoe and I will say.
