The Windhover

The tailor has just left. He forgot to place wooden buttons on my nice new corduroy jacket - I fear that, with the buttons which currently sit upon said jacket, which of a relatively nondescript colour and type, I will look like a nincompoop. Wooden buttons would have set my chocolate dream machine to light! The tailor so himself remarked - the old rascal!

Perhaps Mrs H will bestow some pity upon me. More likely she shall curse my stupidity and suggest I box nest the old cloves by the stream.

More tomorrow.

Hektor.

In besber'd brig, the Snow Flakes gather'd thus.
In told fuermanuen goblets bolded rost.
Penguine in tyme more rhapsodised than olde.
Forbade the warefound Badger by the fold.

In Tofen's speakon spangled banner rode.
The man of margarine, His ensign gold.
The lady who bequeathed the silver chaff,
An' bosper'd forth to brusquabane molf rathe.

For seftern swikt he minces by the sea,
One old for age of beauty none will chee,
A second barberry moose and epithet
With all blank forspane talent to forquent.

To sister's eye they wing tomorrow's daye.
Plain plenty for the and billings by the waye.
An to this canent whisper dothe brainge quespthorne,
Hewe shalte they choseth then nexte generation.