Fun times with my subconscious
Just woke up 17 minutes ago to the following poem rattling around in my head, spoken in a deep, reverberating baritone:
Glory be and nettles sting,
a trusted friend is just the thing,
that, when the hunter's trail grows old,
to deliver the dish that's best served cold.
Glory be and nettles sting,
a trusted friend is just the thing,
that, when the hunter's trail grows old,
to deliver the dish that's best served cold.