A year in the life of a paedophilic tree - a poem.

I've just started growing and greening; how I spruce.

I like to feel the children's tyre swing and the rub of the noose.

The northern hemisphere is tilted towards the sun.

Come here, little child, to touch my wooden bum.

I like to shed my leaves and stand nude in the park.

Come hither, wee child, to feel my bark.

I'm losing my leaves - my tree version of hair.

The weather's growing colder - how I despair.

And now there's not a single child.

Winter's not easy for a tree paedophile.

This is just a joke which escalated from a conversation point. I'm sorry if I've offended anyone out there - I'm sorry if you are a paedophilic tree or perhaps a paedophile who has masqueraded himself/herself as a tree in order to lure in children. I'm also sorry if you've been personally affected at the hands of a paedophile - no pun intended; it's just phrasology, for frick sake!

I should let it be known that the incidence of paedophilia has remained more or less constant in 50 years; it's just our kids who are growing more wary of adults - it's just our kids who are beginning to feel more separate and alienated from a young age. We're not facing a paedophile resurgence, all you middle-class, child-doting, idiotic, safeguarding parents out there.

To gauge what feelings a typical reading of this poem might elicit, I read it to my parents. They weren't amused. Nor were they understanding. They became quite hostile, in fact. I had to explain to them the absurdity of the idea that a tree might bear paedophilic qualities. They agreed.

Does this sort of thing serve to highlight the daft, ultra-PC sensibilities which pervade in 21st-century Britain? What do you think?