There was a little man,
Who had a little gun,
Up the mountains he did run.
A tummy full of fat,
A big big hat,
And a pancake tied to his bum bum bum.
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Titch Miller wore glasses,
With elastoplast pink frames,
And she had one foot
3 times larger than the other.
When they picked teams for outdoor games,
She and i were always the last two,
Standing by the wire mesh fence,
Stooping perhaps to tie a shoelace,
Or afflicting interest in the flight of some fortunate bird,
As we pretended not to hear the ergent confrence,
Have Tubby no no have Titch.
Ussualy they chose me the lesser dud,
And she lolloped unselected to the back of the other line.
At eleven we moved to different schools,
In time i learned to get my own back,
Snearing at hockey players who couldnt spell.
Titch died when she was twelve.
By: Wendy Cope
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From Liz. |