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In a faraway land, umpteen moons ago,
Fishwives tongues set the world aglow;
Igniting with rumours a rife paradigm,
Peradventure apologue, once upon a time.

In the good old days, a fine yarn was told,
And a knitted knight’s stitch was terribly bold;
There were hearts in caskets covered in blisters,
Ill fated myths and tight-wearing misters.

And tomorrow was always another fine day;
Adam was a lad, and every parent did say,
‘They don’t make ‘em proper like that no more’,
At the top of our stairs, in the mourns of yore.

Way back when, ensconced in mystery,
Sits your dad’s heyday and its ancient history;
Over the rainbow, somewhere down memory lane,
We had nothing to lose, we had everything to gain.

We all knew the best was yet to come,
Though still flew way too close to the sun;
Now we’re wishing ‘pon stars, that never shall fall,
Knocking wood in a galaxy, not far away at all.

Where once were nought but dream strewn fields,
Wishing still helped, and lips were tight sealed;
And they all lived ever after, fossilised in prose,
For as a great man once said . . .

‘So it goes’.