Zenithia

A dreamy little thyme...

Flame dividing bar

"A dash of peppermint and a pinch of sage."
The crone stirred the pot.
"My voice was wine, now vineger from age."
And the crone stirred the pot.
"A beauty I was, no man could resist."
The crone stirred the pot.
"Now I am the one who is detest!"
And the crone stirred the pot.
"Mind is fleeing, my heart quails."
The crone stirred the pot.
"Give me balm for my ails!"
And the crone stirred the pot.
A whicker snap and wizzle bang,
great big pops and a clang.
And the crone falls in the pot.

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Chad Alexander Worden
Sunday, February 18, 2001 10:38:36 PM

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