I did one and a half hours on the violin this morning.
Peter probably yawns.
Now the hard work gives a warning,
Time to do the lawns.
How do I get away from this poetry thing?
I'd rather have a bee sting!
I have one good retort,
"Soon the grass will be short."
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The double bass looked out the window
And was immediately aghast
The old musician was with another
Cavorting on the grass
As he fiddled and twiddled the other rumbled
I could do that it glowered
I may not cut grass or trim the edges
But can drone on for hours and hours.
Okay, okay, we're letting poems through again.
There is no such thing as a life without pain.
Richard (of RBB)
How's that poetry ban working out for you?
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