tbca

And, my dear, is it not so bad to be lost? I for one quite enjoy the brambles in my hair And mud between my toes. Never will I wish now, for red drawing rooms To take the place of the green canopies I sleep under. Or for great gold chairs to topple my thousand year oaks (Which make just as good a seat). And should I ever say nay to the symphony of birds, Orchestra of crickets or the chorus of frogs That lullabies me to sleep, Please hang me by my neck until dead. For never again do I want to be among counterfeit friends, Not so long as I have to wear such tight shoes. Or pull my hair into styles so tight that the strands are nea