Friday, July 25, 2014

Narcissus-X Listens

Whither the penguins? Whence the pence? Hence the artichokes cry: the best Hollandaise passed, alas! Narcissus-X envisages, visions vast.

Fleecy fragments, delicate ashen vestiges drifting away: born by breezes unseen yet tasting dry with desiccant doubts. Narcissus-X doubts, but doubts not. Never cry nay! The horse neighs, the dog barks, but trees stand silent: yet speak in any but the gentlest breeze. Hush, say the trees! Hush! Narcissus-X listens.

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Devotees of the Euphistic Quidditer