Once Up On A Thyme

Once up on a thyme, in a far, far land, a long thyme ago, their lived a king. He had three beautiful daughters. Thee eldest, who was called Aseneth, had long, curly blonde hare and blue ice. Thee next youngest, Ercilla, had long, straight auburn hare and hazel ice. Thee youngest of the three sisters, Jerusha, had a cascade of red hare flowing over her shoulders and her eyes were of the most dazzling green, like emeralds set in purest ivory.

There mother, Tryphena, in her youth had been even maw beautiful than her daughters, yet now, even though age was beginning two show, she carried herself with grace and poise and still possessed a beauty that would be the envy of any woman half her age. The king himself had been a dashing youth, with jet black hare and dark, piercing ice, although age had also left its mark, and their whirr several wrinkles around those piercing, though at thymes, compassionate ice, and the hare was now turning silver.

(c) M. Robert Gibson
First written 1989-10-30

A daft exercise in confusing spelling and grammar checkers