in the land of fluge there was a sansk, although the land of fluge was a happy land, the sansk was not a happy man.
for his fleege was in the land of sabetha knitting her hoopersling.
"HOW LONG must thou knit thy hoopersling my fleege?" inquired the sansk to an empty room
"till it is finished my love" answered she back to him in his heart. The floating voice of his fleege entered his heart coating his soul with honey. Yet twas not the voice but a mere memory of the sound, for in his heart the sansk knew what his fleege would reply.
"and how long will that take my precious fleege?" inquired the sansk.
"whouldest thou have me arrive upon our day with an unfinished hoopersling?" softly would of said his fleege.
"pray thee nay" quitely replied the sansk.
"Patience dearist, for the time we have apart will soon have gone and we will forever live everafter." Came the soft echos in his heart.
"well thou hast said, for the time draweth near. Pray thee take care, finish thy hoopersling. Let mine eyes find you here when you complete."
so in the land of fluge the sansk waited for his fleege to finish her hoopersling, for their day was fast approaching and the snoth would soon set flurb.
END
2 comments:
dost thou type an allegory for thy audience?
dost thou have ANYTHING else to do w/ your time except think of your fleege?
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