If You’ll Believe In Me, I’ll Believe

Twinkle, Twinkle Little Bat How I Wonder What You're At! Up Above The World You Fly, Like A Tea-tray In The Sky.

She Tried To Fancy What The Flame Of A Candle Is Like After The Candle Is Blown Out, For She Could Not Remember Ever Having Seen Such A Thing.

Fading, With The Night, The Memory Of A Dead Love, And The Withered Leaves Of A Blighted Hope, And The Sickly Repinings And Moody Regrets That Numb The Best Energies Of The Soul: And Rising, Broadening, Rolling Upward Like A Living Flood, The Manly Resolve, And The Dauntless Will, And The Heavenward Gaze Of Faith-the Substance Of Things Hoped For, The Evidence Of Things Not Seen!

I'm Doubtful About The Temper Of Your Flamingo. Shall I Try The Experiment?

Where One Is Hopelessly Undecided As To What To Say, There (as Confucius Would Have Said, If They Had Given Him The Opportunity) Silence Is Golden.