Full thrice will the mobled queen, her heart laid asunder
cry out to her tormentor "cease, no more I beg of thee!"
yet still her woeful entreaties fall upon unheeding ears.
For in truth, who among this unhappy band,
our wretched faces downcast for fear of censure,
may proclaim vicissitudinous ambition
and say her nay?
Not I, friend; not I.
The swallow may fly south with the sun
or the house martin or the plover
may seek warmer climes in winter,
yet these are not strangers to our land.
Beware the wall-eyed man
and falling labradors.
Lucky colour: puce.
See, I can bafflegab too.
cry out to her tormentor "cease, no more I beg of thee!"
yet still her woeful entreaties fall upon unheeding ears.
For in truth, who among this unhappy band,
our wretched faces downcast for fear of censure,
may proclaim vicissitudinous ambition
and say her nay?
Not I, friend; not I.
The swallow may fly south with the sun
or the house martin or the plover
may seek warmer climes in winter,
yet these are not strangers to our land.
Beware the wall-eyed man
and falling labradors.
Lucky colour: puce.
See, I can bafflegab too.
At the age of five, Skagra decided emphatically that God did not exist. This revelation tends to make most people in the universe who have it react in one of two ways - with relief or with despair. Only Skagra responded to it by thinking, 'Wait a second. That means there's a situation vacant.'
