(Possibly a tuft of grass)
Sat and ate her dairy gruel
Till disaster came to pass.
Up beside her crept a spider,
And when Little Miss espied her,
Just imagine, if you can,
How she dropped her whey and ran!
Tam multa, ut puta genera linguarum sunt in hoc mundo: et nihil sine voce est.
Yesterday I bought and started reading the Kindle edition of Whitley Strieber’s latest book, The Fourth Mind. On page 47, he criticizes thos...
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