The sentinel, who scented like 1000 turds, was having a sausage with herbs he had found, on the curbs by the backdoor he guarded so well. "Watch out" - did he say "You shall not get through!" "But I have to" - said I, "Can you not see my rye?" That certainly rang him a bell The rye was alright as I could read in his eye So we got by (I thought) by the least I'll knock it off once and for all Hit by the fortune - but temporarily - I had a glance of the lawn, still perfectly still trimmed, yet far too grim (what-the-fuck) and shimmed of green and buster the watchdog still wouldn't let me in!