Wherevet you go, the starting-men are
The wharmint-bends follow, the night thickly stars
A cluster of deep/traps, a medallion of art
The trinksy devoid of the callousy-part.
To Whomevet you speak, from Whenevet you run
The slow-laughing lords with their jesting and fun
Will find you and bind you for memories to make
As we all settle down at the table to wait.
Just Me, No More or Less 