This Spring, suddenly, with springs has sprung,
Its way onto our lawn.
Which since, with flighty fling has flung,
'Till dusk from early dawn.

With bewildering bounciness, and bountiful busyness,
This gravity-defying disk.
Is a dutifully delegating doyen of dizziness,
A rip-roaring roundabout of risk.

And what then for this pliant and pert pond of pleasure,
This fantastic elastical being?
This tantalising table of torpedo-like treasure,
And its fast-fleeting fling of Earth-fleeing?

What name shall we choose and therefore bestow,
On this joyful giant juggernaut of jump?
On a something fair full of life's get-up-and-go,
By its health-giving inverting hump?

Let us credit its founder; his praise we should sing,
Du Trampolin the Frenchman 'twas he.
Who invented a system by using the spring,
And without which the bounce would not be.