Stories Songs Poems Recitations Monologues

For All Occasions

'Twas brillig and the slithy toaths

Did gyre and gimbal in the wabe.

Many, years ago, before the advent of the wireless and cinematograph entertainment,

we young lads had to make our own amusement.

The Northern Lights have seen strange sights,

But the queerest they ever did see

Was the night on the marge of Lake Lebarge,

When I cremated Sam McGhee.

When the wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,

When the moon was a ghostly galleon, tossed upon cloudy seas.

Squid, squid glorious squid

There's a bow-legged, knock-kneed bus stop to the North of Jarrow Slacks.