It's the simplest of errors - an easy mistake,
But the thought of it now still keeps me awake.
I'd searched the estate and had finally found,
The house of a friend, who owed me five pound.
I pressed on the doorbell and let it ring well,
Was anyone home? I just couldn't tell.

With a shake of my head I rattled the knocker,
Clacketty-Clack, it banged good and proper.
Then I pounded away with a fist on the door,
But still no reply, so this would mean war.
I found an old axe and cut down a tree,
Fashioned a ram and now we will see!

The door lying splintered, the image still vivid,
An angry old lady, speechless and livid.
She was looking determined despite the distress,
And in a calm voice she confirmed her address.
17, Tempest Street? I began to retreat.
I'm sorry to say - right number, wrong street.