In the land of the Fringe, where the bagpipes do play,
There’s a place called Holyrood where students do stay.
It’s called Destiny Student, a name bold and bright,
But oh, let me tell you of my curious night.
The room was quite cozy, the bed firm and neat,
But there was a stain, right there on the seat!
It was dodgy, suspicious, a mystery spot,
And I couldn’t help wonder just what it was not.
Was it ketchup from chips? Or perhaps something worse?
A spill from a drink? Or a magical curse?
I pondered and wondered, but couldn’t quite tell,
So I left it alone, said, “Oh well, what the hell.”
The shower was splendid, the water ran hot,
But that stain on the seat—I simply could not!
Forget it, ignore it, or wipe it away,
So it sat there and haunted my Fringe-filled day.
The festival’s fun, with laughter and cheer,
But the stain on the seat, it lingered so near.
The shows were fantastic, the acts were a blast,
But back in my room, the stain held fast.
So here’s my review, with a wink and a rhyme,
Destiny Student’s a place for a good time.
But beware of the seat with a stain that won’t fade,
For in the heart of the Fringe, strange memories are made!