Friday, September 7, 2012

The Moon Doth Drip its Humbling Ooze

From the book of Billy Shake, "Into Thy Care I Momentarily Entrust My Unstained Person Oh Goddess", Chapter 34, The Curse of Airborne Meadow's Muffins

And as, while seated on my own veranda I read of Lords and Ladies, of Gawain and Lancelet and Morgain and Gwenhwyfar, a great company of Canadian geese honked to life within my periphery. Into their tattered chevron they assembled and rose above the treetops, roaring overhead, two columns and stragglers. "They'd best not aim their droppings at my form" I thought aloud, "or I shall come unglued." And as they flew, all pomp and flutter, I heard the telltale sounds of their passing. Plop went one, then smook, thwap and shotsmoosh. A few more black parcels struck the earth beside me, and then they were gone, leaving my glue intact. I thanked the skies for my good fortune, and resolved the next time I might hear the gaggle's clatter to raise the round table umbrella in my defense, lest I taunt nature one too many times.

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