Anyway, here's the sonnet. Old Billy boy from Stratford popularised these, though the form was actually invented a few centuries earlier, by a guy who wrote hundreds for his unrequited love. Forget his name, I'll look it up at a spare moment, and maybe start a thread down in the basement. Singaround sonnet We've a singaround here, in the Abbey my friends Your instruments, words, will add to the date Find your way over, a welcome extends Join in the fun, don't hang out with fate Here you can warble, whatever you like Folk, rock or punk, we'll accept any song A rule is we don't tend to set up a mike Though make sure a story, isn't too long The price of an ale, will never be steep As so many guests, to the folk club have found With good entertainment, to miss it you'll weep The cost of the entrance, is only a pound To happen along, will be worth it, the peak You'll be humming away for the rest of the week
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