Rob Bishop

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We come along,
And dance to song,
Almost every week.

Time has gone fast,
I remember the past,
Although a little hazy.

Sometimes feelings are hard to hide,
So you might see me frown,
I can’t help but feel sick inside,
Thinking how I’ve let you down.

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Sometimes quick, Sometimes slow, Sometimes high, Sometimes low, Sometimes cool, Sometimes hot, Sometimes sober, Sometimes not, Sometimes sane, Sometimes mad, Sometimes happy, Sometimes sad.)

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We come along,
And dance to song,
Almost every week.

And if in doubt,
We hear Karen shout,
Or maybe Vicky squeak.

Short or tall,
Large or small,
All are welcome more or less.

A fact that’s nice,
Indeed once or twice,
We’ve turned up in fancy dress.

With time it appears,
That over the years,
Folks have come and gone.

While those that remain,
Are granted a name,
Like ‘Ponytail John’.

Visible underwear,
Or a gormless stare,
May invoke a light hearted attack.

But it’s all taken well,
As you can usually tell,
When the victims keep coming back.

As we attend all seasons,
For various reasons,
Some as transparent as glass.

We’d just like to say,
That every Monday,
We’re proud to be in your class!

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