Queen: Between you and me, Snake: I ache – for a quake; leaving no happiness in its wake.
Serpent: Hiss! A quake be a mistake! My Grace, what’s the race? Trace by trace, your Grace, trace by trace!
Queen: You’re right; this slight of envy they ignite. I shall have the delight: my birthright – the laughter of the night!
Serpent: Do of what we spoke! Hiss! Our presence is venom; we enter be-suited in cloak, bringing surreptitious Armageddon.
Queen: First the weather shall fail, no ship to make sail. To the town we prevail! This is no children’s tale.
Words and pics: ©DJA 2016.
The Angry Farmer 