Quiet Breakfast
By anthea
Mon, 13 Sep 2004
- 699 reads
That was when the Waiter,
undone by a milleniary ague,
forwarded his knees to an unknown address
and flung mulligatawney skywards.
Various stormtossed Persian cats foundered;
certain heraldic tulips became distantly emancipated.
But still the Hebridean scenery
drizzled over the orange juice.
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