I weep bitterly, O friends. I have rent my clothing and covered myself in dust.
My friend the gourd is passing away. I went out to meet him this morning, only to discover his leaves utterly wilted or otherwise dead, his vines altogether shriveled, and a terrible white growth covering his remaining leaves. It is a terribly tragic sight. May your prayers be with him. The gourds themselves seem to be alive, though. There is hope.
This line exists for symmetrical purposes.
22 September 2007
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
I am weeping, and maybe later I'll get around to gnashing my teeth. Poor gourd. It probably needs some sort of fungicide, but I've never dealt with those so I have no recommendation.
Those who are knowledgeable about such matter have recently informed me that the gourd is, in fact, a squash. All the same, it is terribly ill and needs love and care. I tried talking to it...
Find a druid or a small dreature who will talk to you. It might help. I hope the squash isn't beyond assistance, because that would be tragic.
Post a Comment