I have a gig on Saturday;
that’s only a few days away!
I’m supposed to be at my best.
Instead I’m getting rather stressed.
I have a raging cold sore on my lip,
so, if anybody has a good tip
for removal of said abomination
(which threatens world domination)
please now speak
or forever hold your peace.
(I’ve got an awful feeling that on the night
it’s going to steal the limelight!)
It’s an eyesore –
not the cold sore –
the spot just below my eye!
Ruby red it is – I daren’t cry,
I might make it worse.
Instead, I turn to verse.
(Taking extra care in my mind
not to be the least bit unkind)
A week ago, I felt (and looked) great.
I was excited – couldn’t wait
to serenade with my song.
Now I also have an ulcer on my tongue,
reminding me that I need to rest.
(You couldn’t make this up!)
Then there’s the dress.
It’s a little gingham number – size 10.
I bought it last year – well, it fit me then!
I’ve put on quite a bit of weight.
Oh dear, I’m going to look a state
with nappy pins holding me together;
and ribbons to complete the tether.
My character will look a fright,
but all will be well on the night.
It’s a good thing the act is comedy –
I could hardly be taken seriously!
I’m hoping my impediments
will detract from the evidence
that I haven’t been too good
at practising as much as I should
Wish me luck!