A poetic interlude

There once was a good man called Fry

Who wanted his friend not to die.

He told her to wait,

Walked straight out the gate,

With no bloody map, just a tie.

There was a sweet boy that I knew

Whose friends were incredibly few.

Strange thoughts filled his head

So he went to the shed

And hung till his red lips turned blue.

There once was a nun with a wimple

Who told me that waiting was simple

Just write in your book—

 

– The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy

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