Cwv, samples, lcp poor, d

Kites run in my family. At age six I built one from a bedsheet and flew it in a Hanover gale. It pulled me up past the church, over the river, and into a bishop's soup. He blessed me, gave me the spoon, and asked me to please go away.

Up at the North Pole there is a real pole, and I put it there. It was my tent post. I stuck it in the ice one windy night and lost interest by morning. Every ship since has gone looking for it. Someone should really bring me back my tent.

My gray mare could read, a fact I kept from the neighbors. She liked poems and hated sums. Once she found a spelling error on a road sign and refused to pass. We stood there for two days until the king himself sent a painter with a brush and a humble note.

Wine from my cellar at Bodenwerder improves when you insult it. I called one barrel a thin and sorry thing. It wept for a year. Then it turned so rich and dark that two bishops fought over it, and a cardinal swore he saw the face of my aunt.

Flags are hard to carry on a windy day. At.