What time is it? Adventure Time.
Not really.
I mean, yes it is Adventure Time, but it's not that adventure time. Although that adventure is fully as weird as this one.
But here, have a lovely little verse with only a few scansion-limps to annoy you. Because I love you all and I want to make you happy. And this play can do that - happy, sad, silly, mad - all the feelings.
So here goes...
Will she sing them doing math?
Will she sing along the path?
Will she while she's feeling wrath?
If you know - or have ever even met - Abby, you know she will indeed.
Would she dance all by herself?
Would she dance up on the shelf?
Would she could she with an elf?
Would she on the way to Delph?
Again, I say thee "duh!"
Will she act with other folks?
Will she laugh and make great jokes?
Will she work until she chokes?
Will she - is it just a hoax?
You know it's not a hoax.
She'd like (with friends) to show to you,
The land known as Solla Sollew,
How hard it is to get there, too,
Come see them show it, yes, please do.
At...
The place where Abby often plays,
She trains until her eyes both glaze,
And works and spends her summer days,
Because it isn't just a phase.
Yes, this place:
The Studio is where it's at,
With the Cat in his tall Hat,
From seven-ish on ten-eighteen,
On weekends near to Halloween.
The last show's on one sad Sunday,
November third, I'm loath to say,
Two-thirty, then it's time to go,
And start upon another show.
This is the life of actor sorts,
These folk who do their dance as sports,
Oh, by the way, Miss Abby-mine,
Is in Cast B, and doing fine.
And now I fear it's time I quit,
I leave you with this little bit:
Just tap the link and buy a ticket,
Do it now; it's time to click it.
Thank you.
And I'm sorry.
I'm so, so sorry...
And with that, I now want to write a Doctor Who crossover fanfic with Seuss. Can you imagine?
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