Jonquil stands, arms akimbo. It is zero celsius but he doesn't care. Neither does Florinda as she stands, gazing at his new hair cut. The old red phone box could tell many a tale from this path but keeps its counsel. The scene is peaceful as the snow furls, fold after fold, and the moon moves on , serene, peeping from behind the branches. But wait awhile-what is that upon the surface of that round, perfect moon? A vigilant observer might think it looked like the tiny shadows of clockwork, cloven hoofs......
Jonquil stands, arms akimbo. It is zero celsius but he doesn't care. Neither does Florinda as she stands, gazing at his new hair cut. The old red phone box could tell many a tale from this path but keeps its counsel. The scene is peaceful as the snow furls, fold after fold, and the moon moves on , serene, peeping from behind the branches. But wait awhile-what is that upon the surface of that round, perfect moon? A vigilant observer might think it looked like the tiny shadows of clockwork, cloven hoofs......
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