ramblings and things

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Blue Yodel No 1

He was the Yodelling King of Whitby.
On a calm clear weather day
You could hear his practice yodels
On the cliffs at Robin Hoods Bay.

He would stand there at the bar
In his Tyrolean feathered hat
With dark brown lederhosen,
Black cloak thrown over that,
To hold then all enraptured
When he got up on that stage
Setting female hearts a beating
No matter what their age.
His repertoire so varied,
From classical to rap,
With the occasional dance,
Sometimes breaking into tap.

Booked at the Alhambra Bradford
He attracted an audience motley
All of his dedicated fan club
Some from as far away as Otley.
Then he strode on that stage
And his throat suddenly dried
And on the brink of stardom
His career withered and died.
They still talk of it in Eccleshill,
Bowling, Idle, even Runswick Bay
and many a tear still shed
About  that fateful fateful day.

He's still Yodelling King of Whitby,
Still holds the pub under his spell
Particularly performing his finale
Of excerpts from William Tell.

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Blue Yodel No 1