…there’s hardly room for air.
But there’s always space for a bowl of salted pretzels in this old monk’s lair. He tossed up a handful and caught them with flair. A snack while you work is a thanksgiving prayer.
Up in that tower, no one would go, even if they were dared;
in the crows nest, he was perfectly alone.
Patapius, the Legatus of the Legion, with his tattered purple hood drawn low, copied lines from a magical palimpsest scroll.
All was solemn hush until…
