Tubbsy The Poet on the Wing
¶ 1
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Running up and down the wing
Waiting for someone to pass to me,
Is probably where I started
To write this poetry.
I probably thought, ‘Well I’ve got
This un-interrupted time
To think of things like poems,
Metre, form and rhyme.
There was an unwritten rule
That my classmates seemed to obey,
‘Never pass to Tubbsy
He’d only give it away.’
No matter how much I’d shout,
‘I’m unmarked, pass me the ball.’
The ball would never come to me
Or anywhere near me at all.
So whilst I had nothing to do
Ideas probably came to my mind
And I would start thinking thoughts
Of the more poetic kind.
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