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From: Andrew Charles
Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts,
For 'tis a noble sin to want, of sorts,
A flash with Bard-like verse and muse that's fraught
With moans and heart-felt cries of woe. I know
'Tis long time since I graced a stage with verse.
Indeed, I sometimes feel forever cursed
To utter lowly wit and banter free
Within that dark horse, Lo! It's T.I.E.
For 'ere a found this lynch rope round my neck,
My future path, thought I, was strong and clear.
A slight de-tour, say Yes! Then move away.
If only I had known how long I'd stay
In clap-clap land. Or Land of Rhymes - Forsooth!
I've even played a black decaying tooth.
Oh! London Shakespeare Workout - Hear my call,
For I am sure to loose my where-with-all
If I do not speak soon a Bard verse, free
Of 'Acting Space' with squashed school dinner pea.
Yes, Theatre (School Based) - My Dark Horse. So stray
Me please from this ne'er ending Bridle-way!
From: Mark Denham
Look here, what wounded tributes fancies sent me:
Wounded fancies did make her knickers twist.
She was told to get lost. She lost the gist.
Still, tossed me her fair tributes on a plate.
'Twas unrequited love where lust meets hate.