When something sudden came along, And caught him a terrific blip Right in the middle of his song. “A thunderstorm!” he thought. “Of course!” And toppled gently off his horse.
Then said the good Sir Thomas Tom, Dismounting with a friendly air, “Allow me to extract you from The heavy armour that you wear. At times like these the bravest Knight May find his armour much too tight.” A hundred yards or so beyond The scene of brave Sir Hugh’s defeat Sir Thomas found a useful pond, And, careful not to wet his feet, He brought the armour to the brink And flung it in…and watched it sink.
So ever after, more and more, The men of Kent would proudly speak Of Thomas Tom of Appledore, “The Knight Whose Armour Didn’t Squeak” Whilst Hugh, the Knight who gave him best, Squeaks just as badly as the rest.
Buttercup Days
Where is Anne? Head above the buttercups, Walking by the stream, Down among the buttercups. Where is Anne? Walking with her man, Lost in a dream, Lost among the buttercups. What has she got in that little brown head? Wonderful thoughts which can never be said. What has she got in that firm little fist of hers? Somebody’s thumb, and it feels like Christopher’s. Where is Anne? Close to her man. Brown head, gold head, In and out the buttercups.
