The newt's pole sinks and his time is over
While an iron pall is cast on his days.
A frothy mix will spread to cover
The mitten that points all ways.
A cruel necessity compels me to write these prophecies; though not, I freely admit, as cruel as the necessity that compels you to read them.
(continue to Prophecy 11)
2 comments:
I'm having my mitten Scotchgarded to repel the frothy mix before it can become a set-in stain.
If only it were that simple.
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