Fine jester in the court of noble king

Telling his stories in songs to sing

If he didn’t please, he’d lose his head

Which would leave him feeling pretty dead

 

Music hall orator his tales shared

Before his audience his soul he bared

Needing to be fit, fast on his legs

If unliked he’d be pelted with eggs

 

Before them stood the poet tall

In tradition of jester and music hall

Hoping his audience wowed and awed

Then at the end they might just applaud

 

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