Oh Triond every morning to ye I come
To sit in my chair upon my big bum.
Oh Triond every morning to ye I come
To sit in my chair upon my big bum
I am always, always trying to get perfect
But I am me and my articles I collect
Oh Triond I love you so much my dear
But shouts of woe and woo and wee I hear
I type and type but not much good comes
Waiting for my big break to sound to drums
Just another great hit to top the thousand views
I could then smile and chase away the blues
You are the maker of bread and butter
For you I just won’t spit and splutter
I see you working hard though day and night
Sometimes I think you look a dreadful fright
But on and on the slippery treadmill you roam
Until at last the publishing’s done and you press home
My Ode to you Triond my friend
The rules maybe a little we can bend
Crack on with the publishing sweetie please
Can you just for one second stop being a tease!
I will crack this Ode writing if it kills me!
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