Broken links

The rope that stops short of the ground

Butterflies lifted my carriage over the Pyrenees after the mules gave out. I whistled up about a million of them and tied each to the roof with a silk thread. The flight was smooth, though quite pale and dusty. Customs officers at the border charged me for one very large moth.

Hiccups shook me so hard in Madrid that a wall came down. Doctors ran in and out with leeches. Nothing worked. At last a small child said boo, and I flew across the plaza and out to sea. I was cured by the time I reached the Azores.

Mirrors have always been kind to me. One in Paris fell in love and refused to show anybody else. Ladies stood before it and saw only my face, and this led to some trouble. I had it moved to my bedroom, and we have been happy ever since.

Pirates boarded our ship off Tunis and asked for gold. I offered them a riddle instead. It was so hard that the captain sat down to think. His crew joined him. They are still there, I believe, and their beards have grown through the deck and out the hull.

Last noon in Spain my shadow quit me. It said the pay was.