by Christos Polydorou
You woory too much, said you. I asked you if you pronounced that word that way in general, or if it had just been an accident. Woo and worry, said you, The words speak for themselves. I gravely agreed, covered in butterflies, amidst trees. It will not do to dwell when swimmers in midair we can be, said you, said me, and said every living thing, even the trees sung with this wisdom. Meanwhile the roses provided a harmonic background chorus.