Quick reflexes spark,
Laughter echoes through the room,
Joy in swift surprise.

In a hall where buns abound,
A Bun Dance party can be found.
With pastries piled up to the sky,
And doughnuts dancing, oh my, oh my!

The buns wore hats of icing sweet,
With sprinkles dancing at their feet.
Cinnamon rolls spun round and round,
While jelly-filled buns bounced on the ground.

The croissants did a graceful twirl,
While bagels gave a whirl and swirl.
Muffins marched in a tasty parade,
And scones in a conga line were made.

The air was filled with sugary cheer,
As buns and rolls all gathered near.
With laughter, joy, and crumbs galore,
The Bun Dance left them wanting more!

So if you crave a sweet romance,
Join the fun at the Bun Dance.
Where buns and rolls in abundance play,
And dance the night (and crumbs) away!

In the velvet dark of nightfall’s embrace,
Stars awaken, each in their place.
Whispers of twilight, soft and serene,
Paint the sky in a midnight sheen.

Moonlight dances on silken waves,
Casting shadows in hidden caves.
Crickets sing their lullaby tune,
Under the watchful eye of the moon.

The world slows down, in gentle repose,
Dreams unfurl as the night wind blows.
In the velvet dark, hearts find peace,
A moment of stillness, a sweet release.

In this room, the air is light,
With laughter echoing day and night.
Conversations flow like a gentle breeze,
Bringing smiles and putting minds at ease.
Ideas bounce like rubber *****,
Off the walls and down the halls.
Creativity’s a constant guest,
In this space, we do our best.
The vibe is warm, the mood is bright,
Even when the clock strikes midnight.
So here’s to the atmosphere we share,
Full of joy and without a care!

Restless night lingers,
Moonlight whispers secrets soft,
Eyes wide, dreams adrift.

In the town of Loughborough, where sheep
Outnumber people, and the rain falls soft,
There lived a man named Bob, who had a dream
To build a rocket ship from old tin cans

He scoured the town for parts, a toaster here,
A broken vacuum there, and soon enough,
His yard became a scrapyard, much to the
Dismay of Mrs. Crumble next door.

“Bob, what on earth are you up to?” she’d shout,
As he welded bits of metal in the night.
“I’m off to Mars, dear Crumble, can’t you see?
I’ve got a date with destiny and stars!”

The townsfolk gathered 'round to watch the show,
As Bob unveiled his masterpiece of junk.
With duct tape, glue, and hope, he climbed inside,
And pressed a button labelled “Up We Go!”

The rocket sputtered, coughed, and then it soared,
A tin can comet streaking through the sky.
The sheep looked up, bemused, and chewed their cud,
While Mrs. Crumble fainted on the spot.

Bob’s rocket flew past clouds and birds and planes,
And soon enough, he found himself in space.
He marvelled at the stars, the moon, the Earth,
And thought, “Well, this is quite a lovely view.”

But then he heard a clank, a groan, a snap,
And realized his ship was failing fast.
He grabbed a wrench, a hammer, and some tape,
And tried to fix the mess he’d made of things.

Alas, poor Bob, his rocket was no match
For gravity’s relentless, mighty pull.
He crash-landed in a farmer’s field of corn,
And crawled out, dazed, but grinning ear to ear.

The farmer scratched his head and asked,
“What now?” Bob laughed and said, “I think I’ll try again.
But first, a cup of tea, a nap, and then,
I’ll build a better rocket, just you wait!”

And so, in Loughborough, the legend grew,
Of Bob, the man who aimed to reach the stars,
With nothing but his wits, some junk, and dreams,
And made the town a little brighter too.

At the start of the seventies, a spark ignites,
From Newcastle’s heart, a band takes flight.
Roxy Music, a name whispered in the wind,
With Bryan Ferry’s voice, where dreams begin.

A tapestry of sound, that’s woven with care,
Glam rock’s pioneers, they’re beyond compare.
Synthesizers hum, guitars wail and cry,
In their melodies, the stars align.

Andy Mackay’s sax, a soulful breeze,
Phil Manzanera’s strings, a symphony with ease.
Paul Thompson’s drums, a heartbeat strong,
Together they create a timeless song.

From “Virginia Plain” to “Avalon”’s grace,
Each album a journey, a new embrace.
Brian Eno’s touch, an avant-garde flair,
In Roxy’s world, there’s magic in the air.

Their style, a blend of chic and bold,
Glamour and art, a story told.
In sequins and suits, they take the stage,
A visual feast, a gilded age.

“More Than This,” a whisper in the night,
“Love Is the Drug,” a lover’s delight.
Their music, a canvas, painted with care,
Each note a brushstroke, vibrant and rare.

Through decades they journey, a legacy grand,
Influencing many, a guiding hand.
From punk’s raw edge to new wave’s beat,
Roxy Music’s echo, a rhythm sweet.

In the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame they stand,
A testament to a visionary band.
Their songs, a soundtrack to life’s parade,
In every heart, their mark is made.

So here’s to Roxy Music, legends true,
With every chord, they renew.
A symphony of art, a timeless muse,
In their melodies, we find our cues.