Page 11

TOC

Page 10 Page 12

The three of crows have flapped it southenly, kraaking of de  
baccle to the kvarters of that sky whence triboos answer; Wail,  
'tis well! She niver comes out when Thon's on shower or when  
Thon's flash with his Nixy girls or when Thon's blowing toom-  
cracks down the gaels of Thon. No nubo no! Neblas on you liv!  
Her would be too moochy afreet. Of Burymeleg and Bindme-  
rollingeyes and all the deed in the woe. Fe fo fom! She jist does  
hopes till byes will be byes. Here, and it goes on to appear now,  
she comes, a peacefugle, a parody's bird, a peri potmother,  
a pringlpik in the ilandiskippy, with peewee and powwows  
in beggybaggy on her bickybacky and a flick flask fleckflinging  
its pixylighting pacts' huemeramybows, picking here, pecking  
there, pussypussy plunderpussy. But it's the armitides toonigh,   
militopucos, and toomourn we wish for a muddy kissmans to the  
minutia workers and there's to be a gorgeups truce for happinest  
childher everwere. Come nebo me and suso sing the day we  
sallybright. She's burrowed the coacher's headlight the better to  
pry (who goes cute goes siocur and shoos aroun) and all spoiled  
goods go into her nabsack: curtrages and rattlin buttins, nappy  
spattees and flasks of all nations, clavicures and scampulars, maps,  
keys and woodpiles of haypennies and moonled brooches with  
bloodstaned breeks in em, boaston nightgarters and masses of  
shoesets and nickelly nacks and foder allmicheal and a lugly parson  
of cates and howitzer muchears and midgers and maggets, ills and  
ells with loffs of toffs and pleures of bells and the last sigh that  
come fro the hart (bucklied!) and the fairest sin the sunsaw  
(that's cearc!). With Kiss. Kiss Criss. Cross Criss. Kiss Cross.  
Undo lives 'end. Slain.  
    How bootifull and how truetowife of her, when strengly fore-   
bidden, to steal our historic presents from the past postpropheti-  
cals so as to will make us all lordy heirs and ladymaidesses of a  
pretty nice kettle of fruit. She is livving in our midst of debt and  
laffing through all plores for us (her birth is uncontrollable), with  
a naperon for her mask and her sabboes kickin arias (so sair! so  
solly!) if yous ask me and I saack you. Hou! Hou! Gricks may  
rise and Troysirs fall (there being two sights for ever a picture)