Empty anchor, near miss

Wigs were in fashion at Versailles, and mine was the tallest. Swallows nested near the top. A small choir practiced in the curls. One evening it caught on a chandelier, and I hung there all through the ball. The Queen said it was the best dance she had seen.

Spiders in my attic wove me a fine coat when my tailor died. It took them one summer. The sleeves were light, the collar was warm, and the pockets trapped flies for my lunch. I wore it to court, and three duchesses at once asked for the pattern.

Flags are hard to carry on a windy day. At the battle of Bender mine grew so large with pride that it lifted me off my horse. I floated over both armies, waving. Everyone stopped to clap. Then we all had lunch, and the war just sort of ended.

Earthquakes are just the ground getting an itch. In the hills of Persia I took a long rake and scratched the worst of it. The ground let out a low sigh. The shaking stopped at once, and the shah gave me a fine rug that I had to hold down.

Laughter was banned in Krakow by a sad old king. I arrived in town with a feather. I crept.