I really am trying to make these a little difficult to make you all stretch your wings, and yet every time, our poets seem to manage with consummate ease, to weave a wonderful story around the words I have chosen. I know that these will suffer a similar fate
at last with velvet sandals shod
the scent of the dew was sweet
the lash of a whip will scald and sear
in drink he strives to drown the thoughts
and man's to blame for the bleaching bones
with a sound of mocking laughter
Go to it my fellow scribes
