It Took Me Ten Years And Seven

Were You Listening To A Word I Said ' 'i Kind Of Switched Off When You Drew Breath.

Once Upon A Midnight Dreary, While I Pondered Weak And Weary, O’er A Plan To Venge Myself Upon That Cursed Thursday Next- This Eyre Affair, So Surprising, Gives My Soul Such Loath Despising, Here I Plot My Temper Rising, Rising From My Jail Of Text. “get Me Out!” I Said, Advising, “pluck Me From This Jail Of Text- Or I Swear I’ll Wring Your Neck!

Individual Words, Sounds, Squiggles On Paper With No Meanings Other Than Those With Which Our Imagination Can Clothe Them.

If Only Life Were That Simple; If One Could Jump To The Good Parts And Flick Through The Bad.

Humpty Had Always Sat On Walls, It Was His Way.