Soft morning, city! I am Leafy speafing. Lifp! Folty and folty all the nights have being falling on to long my hair. Not a sound, falling. No wind, no word. Only a leaf, just a leaf and then leaves. The woods are so fond always. It is for my goolden wending. Rise up, man of the hooths, you have slept so long! I am Leafy, your goolden, so you called me, my life, you're goolden, silve me solve, exsogerraider! Here is your shirt, the day one, come back. The stock, your collar. Also your double brogues. And stand up tall. I want to see you looking fine for me. You make me think of a seaman I once. Or an earl was he, at Lucan? Or, no, it's the Iren duke's I mean. Or sombrey erse from Darklands. Come and let us. The childer are still fast. There is no school today. Them boys is so contrairy. Heel trouble and heal travel. Unless they changes by mistake. I seen the likes in the twinngling of an aye. So oft. Time after time. The sehm asnuh. And her, you wait. Eager to choose is left for her shade. But let them. Slops and the slut too. It's Phoenix, dear. And the flame is, hear! Let's our journeey saintomichael make it. Since ^|2blank lausafire^2| has lost and the ^|2blank book^2| of the debt is. Closed. Come! We've light enough. It is the softest morning that ever I can ever remember me. The trout will be so nice at brookfisht. With a cut of roly polony after. To bring out the tang of the tay. Are my not truly? Lst! Only you must buy me a fine new girdle too. Come. Give me your great big hand for miny tiny. We will take our walk before they ring the bells. Pax Goodmass. Or the birds start their treestorm shindy. Look, there are yours off, high on high! And,
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O, sweet good luck they're cawing you, Coole! You see, they're as white as the riven snae. Not such big steps. It is hardly a mile or seven. It is very good for health in the morning. It seems so long since. As if you had been long far away. You will tell me some time if I can believe its all. You know where I am bringing you? You remember? Not a soul but ourselves. We might call on the Old Lord, what do you say? He is a good sport. His door always open. Remember to take off your white hat, ech? And say hoothoodoo. You'll know our way from there, surely? Flura's way. Where once we led so many car couples have follied since. Giving Shaughnessy's mare the hillymoont of her life. With her strulldeburgghers! Hnmn hnmn! The rollcky road adondering. We can sit us down on the heathery benn, me on you. To scand the arising. Ourselves, oursouls alone at the site of salvocean. And watch would the letter you're wanting be coming may be. That I prays for with me dreams. Scratching it and patching at with a prompt from a primer. Based on traumscrapt from Maston, Boss. After rounding his
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world of ancient days. Carried in a caddy or screwed and corked. On his mugisstosst surface. With a bob, bob, bottledy bob. Blob. You must build our villa there and we'll cohabit respectable. The Gowans, ser, for Medem, me. With acute runtoher for to pippup where the sterres be. Tiltop, bigmaster! You're not so giddy now any more. Only don't start your games of last night again. I could guessp to her name who tuckt you that one, tufnut! Bold bet backwords. For the loves of the sins! Before the naked sky. Softly so. I am so exquisitely pleased about the lovely dress I have. You will always call me Leafy, won't you? And you won't urbjunk to my parafume, oiled of Kolloonely. Sm! It's Allpine Smile from Yesther and Yesthers. I'm in everywince nasturtls. Astale of astoun. Queer grand old marauder! If I knew who you are! I will tell you all sorts of stories, strange one. About every simple place we pass. It is all so often and still the same to me. If I lose my breath for a minute or two don't speak, remember. It's thinking of all. I'll begin again in a jiffey. ^|2Look! Your blackbirds! That's for your good luck.^2| How glad you'll be I waked you! My! How well you'll feel! For ever after. First we turn a little here and then it's easy. I only hope whole the heavens sees
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us. For I feel I could faint. Here weir, reach, island, bridge. There! That's what cockles the hearty! Let me lean, so soft our morning. So. A bit beside the bush and then a walk along the

Paris,
1922—1938.