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