Two tulips, two stems and what ought cruel fate begot, but damage upon a lovely limb. So sad we all cried, we forest, we streams (especially the streams!), the insects that sting, and the birds that could sing. Oh what filter could stop or pin could pop such horror indeed as one of these most beautiful tulips had grown a weed. The dismay! poor jack (the rabbit) cried while rubbing one eye on one most moist ear that one ought never see him wear. So teary eye spoke he so clear like never had his voice been feared. And true! the birds all sang in tune, but what ever were they to do? Oh bother! said one baboon as she nibbled, nibbled upon a 'shroom (as such things are called around here) and wondered perhaps if her nails were groomed and more importantly about her husband's hair. No good at all thought worm with no way to speak, so he decided there must be other options to seek. Though well-to-do intentioned as she, the spider spoke only of eating husbands by threes! (efficiency she reasons). No help thought worm as he sneered with glee and started on his journey down the tree. The streams kept crying and nothing more; dear tulip, dear tulip do not be sad, if you should survive this, we must bename you like a goddess! At this, all rejoiced for but all of the smallest moment as if to signify the hope that smoldered. And now we may wonder at and hence ponder thus the whereabouts of the creature with not voice at all; if it was possible, could he fall? Well with no reason to call, the most dreaded of all dilemmafied paradoxical conundrums in recall, was shrinking! Save one, it was every body that saw. The sniffles ceased, the crying tamed and all were waiting for the slay; save one. And slowly that weed became to unbe what it should not have been before. Every body agreed that it was true and so it was obvious to see that some body had fixed that weed! Yet without much time to pass it was the stream (as streams are quite fast) to ask; what, since the most wondrous tulip had thrived, shall we bename this future bride? So sad really to see so many befuddled on what to think, really, not even an answer even near the brink! I am not sure the squirrel whispered at last; ...yes! he was quite sure, it was so perfect now, the name could be none other than like those seeds that provide so constant, provided for we, yes her name must be "Sure Leave!" Well surely that makes no sense at all! boo'd the birds, for her name must be pretty thought they...pretty like..."Shirley!"

Great name! hoo'd the owl...he supposed they did not need him this time. This time, he thought, they got along just fine. Beautiful name, he softly coo'd as he closed his golden eyes and fell back adream to dream his favorite dream, the one where another and him made a team.

~fin~