You’ll discover that
death by any other name
would still smell as sweet.
When we took the piano to the forest, we knew it was the right thing to do. We’d been hearing the crying for weeks; the tree screaming for its baby. In just under a week, it had got to work: it was taking its baby back, and we’d never play that piano again.
There once was a wizened tortoise
who patrolled the mossy undergrowth without fuss.
She had a certain weathered joy
for acting particularly coy,
and she lived her entire life thus.