Plagiarism
A Thought stands alone; waiting, cold, and shivering.
Yay, succor from a Scribe, who against the slaughter of the innocent, and whose own thoughts are fair, places around the shoulders of the Thought a robe of ermine- this being a robe of magic- the magic and mystery of forefathers, and of footprints of children not yet born.
Now, Thought standing regally, spawns more thoughts,
And thoughts upon thoughts blossom like a tree with fruits;
Yay, tutti frutti, ample for a slice of fruit to be given to each one in the crowd.
And the crowd, eating the fruit, began to think,
And so more thoughts were formed.
Halt! Do pray.
While eating fruit one hears a rattle at the door.
Foreshadowing that the door has no lock, it opens furtively,
(my heart now pounding, inasmuch guests were not expected),
And enters with aplomb, a haughty trickster from the witche's lair.
The trickster grabs the ermine wrap from Thought,
And as quickly leaves the room with the beloved robe.
Once more, Thought stands alone, waiting, cold, and shivering.
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