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The Imposter's Song - authors name please?
4 Answers
Ah sweet imposter with smile so sad
And head held high and heart so glad
Shirk not with fear from chosen task
Flit here and there in shaded mask.
Your chosen aim to spread confusion
Could simply end with blue contusion
As wicked foes land fiercesome blows
And cackling break your tiny nose.
Lose not your patience nor your aim
And swallow all the bitter blame
Sustain your your cheer, hold back the bile
Greet your detractors with a cheery smile.
Answers
Best Answer
No best answer has yet been selected by Oneeyedick. Once a best answer has been selected, it will be shown here.
For more on marking an answer as the "Best Answer", please visit our FAQ.Ah kent a canny imposter
she made up names fae roster
Her name was smadge
or was it smidge
It changed so much we lost 'er
Epitaph: Imposter
Here he lies, our old friend smadge,
or is it smidge or smedge?
It may be smudge or even smodge,
Who knows? He jumped off ledge....
Epitaph: ABEditor 1
Here he lies, ABEditor 1,
He's gone now from this place,
We loved him dearly, from his words,
Cos we never saw his face.
Epitaph: Joker
He walked through life, with sense of fun,
No harm he did imply,
But hardened men, with hardened ways,
Did not see eye to eye
He tried to show them life was short
be short of temper not of fuse!
But they pressed on, counselling him,
to mind his p's and q's
In end he died, his epitaph,
was 'Told you I was ill'
They tore it down, those furrowed men,
In death they hate him still.
she made up names fae roster
Her name was smadge
or was it smidge
It changed so much we lost 'er
Epitaph: Imposter
Here he lies, our old friend smadge,
or is it smidge or smedge?
It may be smudge or even smodge,
Who knows? He jumped off ledge....
Epitaph: ABEditor 1
Here he lies, ABEditor 1,
He's gone now from this place,
We loved him dearly, from his words,
Cos we never saw his face.
Epitaph: Joker
He walked through life, with sense of fun,
No harm he did imply,
But hardened men, with hardened ways,
Did not see eye to eye
He tried to show them life was short
be short of temper not of fuse!
But they pressed on, counselling him,
to mind his p's and q's
In end he died, his epitaph,
was 'Told you I was ill'
They tore it down, those furrowed men,
In death they hate him still.
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