The Lafcadio Hearn Virtual iDiary.

The Code of a Herdsman.

Then I am Set Round with the Angels of Oxygen.

(The manuscript of the following sonnet was found rolled up inside an almost empty tube of Preparation H, in the trash at an undisclosed location.)

"Some Fellow Ratted Out Me"

Some fellow ratted out me.
Late at night, I essay to work out which,
thinking back, in the pong-threaded dark,
but so many are those grudgeful nebbishes

I've needed to rely since my sad misadventure
eventuated.
That goat-tapeworm Bush
wil never happily throne throne

in the land he reft.
He will never joy the life-days
Allah for what uncanny crotchet
has him gifted past beyond mine.

Today, Bush has the butt itch.
We must manipulate our garden-areas.