Enemies publish themselves. They declare war. The friend never declares his love.
Enemies publish themselves. They declare war. The friend never declares his love.
That's Roman wormwood that's pigweed that's sorrel that's pipergrass have at him, chop him up, turn his roots upward to the sun, don't let him have a fibre in the shade, if you do he'll turn himself t'other side up and be as green as a leek in two days. A long war, not with cranes, but with weeds, those Trojans who had sun and rain and dews on their side. Daily the beans saw me come to their rescue armed with a hoe, and thin the ranks of their enemies, filling up the trenches with weed dead. May a lusty crestwaving Hector, that towered a whole foot above his crowding comrades, fell before my weapon and rolled in the dust.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories