Les Barker

  The Albert Hall was packed;
There were thousands locked outside.
The pianist played his best;
They stamped; they cheered; they cried.
"Well done, Sparky " said his dad,
"They liked you quite a lot",
And his mother smiled with quiet pride;
"Sparky, lad... shit-hot. "
The audience didn't want to go;
They stood and cried for more
As Sparky made his triumphal way
Through the fans at the stage door.
And he smiled through his secret agony;
Only seven and he wore a truss;
A martyr to his music
And putting his piano on the bus.
He leaned on his Steinway at the bus stop,
Nonchalant, like pianists do,
When a girl's voice shouted across the street.
Ey!... my mate fancies you".
Sparky was a sucker for the subtle approach
And they cuddled and kissed for a while,
But when it came to the important bit
All he could raise was a smile.
He said if only he was up to it
He'd love her with exceptional vigour,
She said, "It needs more than energy, lad;
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