Canonical conflict

Her Imperial Highness asked me to fetch a star for her hair. I borrowed a long ladder from a Kiev fire brigade. The star was hot, so I carried it home in a soup pot. She wore it to the ball, and the ladies all left early, sunburned.

Grand Viziers do not often blush, but one did at my table in Constantinople. I had asked him to pass the figs, and he dropped a secret treaty in the bowl. I ate it by mistake. That is how I came to know the future of Greece, and it tasted of almonds.

Honey was scarce the year my bees went on strike. They wanted shorter days and larger flowers. I met their queen in the orchard, and we talked it over with great care. I gave them the whole of Bohemia in bloom. They gave me a barrel a day, and a small medal.

Trumpets are dangerous in the wrong lungs, and mine are the wrong lungs. I blew a single note near Jericho, just for fun. Some old stones shifted. A goat fell over. A man in Damascus dropped his lunch. I put the horn away and have since kept it under lock.

Ducks have always trusted me, and this is their mistake. One foggy morning I whistled a tune, and two hundred mallards.