♥"JJ"♥

John Willy

River of Love

Once upon a time, in the land of Song, there lived a Mr Blue and a Mr Red. Mr Blue wrote melodies to outdo the Nightingale's song but his words were worse than those of the poet William Topaz McGonagall*. On the other hand, Mr Red wrote words of sublime poetry but his tunes jarred like those of the crow.

One day, Mr Red's head snapped back in horror as he saw the old man who stared out of his shaving mirror. He hunted around for his walking frame and hobbled around to talk to Mr Blue.

"My friend, we have to realise that unless we co-operate we'll never win the European Song Contest. I'll write the words and you can add one of your beautiful melodies."

"Well, I don't know about that," replied Mr Blue, whose false teeth rattled as he shook his head.

"You know that any song by Red/Blue is bound to win," cried Mr Red.

"I thought Blue/Red, as the tune is more important," suggested Mr Blue as he raised himself to his full height of five foot and half an inch .

Shadows lengthened as they argued, back and forth. One said Red/Blue and the other insisted on Blue/Red. Mr Blue shivered in the chill of the evening.

"My friend, we are being silly. Let us ask our shrewd friend, the choir master."

So they called on Mr ,Baton, the choir master, who rubbed his chin and agreed it was a very difficult decision. He said he would have to think on it, and arranged to meet them on the next day.

They met on the last bong of noon.

"Well, have you made a decision?" cried Mr Red and Mr Blue, in one voice.

"I could not decide which are most important words or music, but at three a.m. a thought came to mind."

"What was that?" they both cried.

"Oh, we'll credit your song, River of Love, to Purple; a combination of blue and red. I'll send it today, save you the trouble." yawned Mr Baton. His mouth gaped to show his yellow teeth, white tongue and pink tonsils.

Mr Red and Mr Blue agreed the choirmaster was too kind.

'River of Love' won the European Song Contest and Mr Red and Mr Blue hugged each and danced wildly around the cobbled square to the fat sounds of the town's brass band, until they realised Mr Baton had entered their song under his own name.



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* Generally thought to be the worst-ever poet.
Written by willy