O Tongue, Sir, thou I salute with glee -
How canst I but marvel at thee? -
What gloriousness thy countenance betrays, -
This pinkish slab of muscle, that spotted uneven fray -
Thy cuteness magnified, those movements, that grace, -
With that speckled form, thy crowning one's face. -
O Tongue, Sir, this but an ode be -
Declareth I, how I worship thee! -
“Books take you down silken paths and rough-hewn stone roads alike, comfort you and condemn you, exasperate and entertain, and are yet unlike any friend you have ever known. Treasure them.”
Says moi.
Blah.
Whatever.
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Please leave a comment. Comments make me happy =D (Plus I would like to have a link to visit you back =))
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please leave a comment. Comments make me happy =D
(Plus I would like to have a link to visit you back =))