Write the rest of [these] poem[s].
I took all the first lines and smashed them into one long poem, which could have fallen from the quill of Billy S. himself! I am open to offers, if E. L. James wants to turn this into a novel!
There was once a lady called Sue, from Hitchen,
Who liked to murder pensioners,
Two old men were making porridge in the kitchen,
They died, when popped, by tensioners.
I awoke with a start in the night one day,
And realised that Sue was a dream,
The trees shook like terrified children in the garden,
And one gave a blood curdling scream
Peter saw a magpie and he started to cry,
(After letting out said scream),
The Taskmaster is brave and strong, and said
“Shush Peter, I have a scheme!”
“Majorca can be very cold, let’s go!” said Greg,
“For the birds, they fly and flee”
“But Taskmaster, Sir” whispered Peter, quite loudly,
“You’re forgetting I’m a tree!”
The host (and Taskmaster) of the party, sat down on a chair,
And contemplated his journey south,
“Sausages are good for you,” said Sue,
And stuffed four in Greg’s mouth.
Will this be the end of our Lord and Leader*?
Will Sue do for his health?
“Whenever I am eating plums,” said Davies,
“I always shit myself!”
So Alex rode in and he saw Sue,
Deliver her deadly dish,
Led Greg by the hand, pushed him onto the loo,
And served him plums with fish.
So Sue flew through the sky to Majorca,
To escape the judicial system,
Thanks to Alex’s plums and fish dish Greg ate,
He lived and Alex kissed Him x
*who definitely is not, nor anywhere to being a pensioner, but clearly, by now, Sue’s murderous remit has changed!