My dear deer,
Writhing, I am writing this letter to you, my young youth, using letters, not numbers, numb as my thumb already is. On paper, not leather.
Whether the weather is nice (as nice as my little niece) or rain does reign, I must tell you a tale. Not about a tail.
About a fairy who felt like she had failed and about the felt hat she had.
About a rogue taking rouge when he couldn't steal steel. About a horde praising their prized hoard for a price, about their trial when they tried to hold the hold they held.
About an angel drawing angles because it was too painful to paint. About a hairless hare and a horny horned whore who wore w
Dear friend, how much I love you; still
not velvet-like they feel, your paws
while in my hair your raking claws
rip out whole strands with cruel skill.
You're purring, much to my delight
while dangling right before my face
your hairy tail despite its grace
now makes me sneeze and blocks my sight.
My little kitty, cute and sweet,
my head is aching from your weight.
Why should you bother what I've said,
knowing you'll always get your treat?