Guildford, Epping, Tooting
When you proposed this concert
This whirligig affair
I thought we'd sell some tickets
A host of clients fair
I hadn't really bothered
To think the problem through
Or look at the agenda
To see what we could do
While straining at the fly-ropes
I pulled out all the pegs
Not thinking for an instant
that we would do our legs
It's not my fault the ice broke
Nor folly mine, failed tabs
It happened in a second
And left us dead on slabs
So now we tread boards ghostly
Where mice and cats do abound
Felines being arch typically
Ten paces off the ground
So if you find one opened,
By which I mean who knows?,
Play not, the tale of Scots Kings Crossed
In neatly-rhyming prose
For they will surely find you
Those legends three of woe
Red-blooded and drenched with dew
And munching on a crow
And so, sweet reader, adieu;
For those now leave who can -
the rest of you who tarry
Will be baked in a flan
Contributors: | Roland, TG, Grayman, MRQ, fester, Apsley, HOG, Stacy, Spedders. |
Poem finished: | 24th July 2000. |