…sounds long, but wait until you hear this…
At least, not a real one…
The clouds their backs together laid,
The north begun to push,
The forests galloped till they fell,
The lightning skipped like mice;
The thunder crumbled like a stuff—
How nice I have a gnome cave,
Where nature’s temper cannot reach,
Nor bigger people ever come!
The graver original.
I’ve seen a dying eye
Run round and round a room
In search of something, likely its head,
Then cloudier become;
And then, obscure with fog,
Annoyed at falling out,
Blink thrice in quick succession,
Surprised its eyelids were still attached.
…but you won’t believe what happened NEXT!
…that each can make but once…