Hiver Jawn cherished his father's bee-keeper's veil following the death of the child who was due to grow into Hiver Jawn's father.
A portrait kept by a ghost to commemorate another ghost straddles these potentialities of tangible existence destined to die prematurely before the portrait is painted. The likenesses were nevertheless perfect.
Parodices - the plural of paradox?
Too many things are singular.
Death, where are thy stings?
Is a fable that ends with a question honed purposively to its sharpest edge of fanblade, positively turned upon the lathe of didactic proverb, indeed finished?
Posted by weirdtongue
at 9:59 AM BST
