There were almost four hundred until the black day
I discovered how high they would fly to the sky
If you used them for tennis instead of a ball.
Zinging glass satellites crueller than fate
Whacked with a racket up into the blue
I'd smashed all the greenhouses on the estate
And a crowd formed a queue at the gate.
Writer(s): Peter John Trewavas, Mark Colbert Kelly, Steven Hogarth, Ian Mosley, Steven Thomas Rothery
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