My dearest Elizabeth
By the time you read these words I will be far away; I plan to take my leave tonight and cross the moor by moonlight until the next village rises to meet me. You will never see me again, and I hope you will nurture some tender thoughts for me in your heart, warmed by the memory of what we were rather than on the black things I have done.

Your ears have become sharp of late to the emptiness of our coffers, and the bareness of our bricks stares at you. You have watched me come home from t'pit with nowt in my pockets but a few handfuls of tea, the cheering tea that I love so much and that you never had the heart or hardness to deny me. P'rhaps you will look back on my stained, abandoned mug in a different air when I make my confession: that tea has become my sunshine and my lifeblood, and I cannot live wi'out it.

When it were a thrifty month, your things did go missing from the wardrobe, and from the silver drawer, and were not eaten by mice or swallowed by the floorboards. The truth it pains me so to say is that all your wealth, Liza, went on t'Oolong.
( .Yeti., Thu 15 Mar 2012, 13:11, 4 replies)

Nnnnnnngh....
Damn it.

*click*
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Thu 15 Mar 2012, 13:14, closed)

*cricket applause*
nice.
( The Great Architect is still waiting for his account to be deleted on, Thu 15 Mar 2012, 13:22, closed)

This is more like it.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 15 Mar 2012, 13:23, closed)

***clicky***
a well-crafted effort, sir!
(localboy purveyor of pisspoor puns, Thu 15 Mar 2012, 14:53, closed)