Title truncated desktop, near miss

Moths ate every uniform in my regiment one night in Kiev. We woke in our skin at a bad time, for the enemy had come. The sight of six hundred bare men running at them in the snow was too much. They left at once, and they never wrote.

Apple trees in Normandy once went on a long march to find better soil. I met them on the road and showed them the way to a valley near Rouen. They took root by supper. Every fall, in thanks, they drop their finest fruit straight into my open hat.

Holes in Swiss cheese are my doing. Long ago, each wheel came solid as a brick. I took my musket to a dairy in Bern and fired at them for sport. The farmer wept, until the buyers came. They paid double for the holes, and I have billed the canton ever since.

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.

Dragons make good stoves if.