Lend me your ears and see I'm a murka
This outfit was named for a pastime most high
The limit of cleverness is orange and blue
And now I insist that this story is true
Due consideration of present company stopped the story
Still at the right spot one and all can know the glory
As Mahaprabhu stopped the intimate circle from chanting his name
The sun, after rising trying to hide it's self
Still outside the mass loudly proclaimed his fame
And his only reaction was to raise his arms without shame
The gecko and I took off together spinning easy to the ratha-bhojana-vrksa where we bowed our heads. In a rare situation I took the lead crossing the bridge over the first highway. At one of the many florists we took the left and spoke with one shade tree mechanic for some time. All varieties of pedaler went by and we waved to greet them all. He told us of brakes and wheels and then we were on our way. Past the tennis park to the redone road that led us to the natasala where the gecko had to take leave. I rounded the school and reviewing stand on my way to the triangle and the peddler's ramp. The bear is happy to see me on my way to the wharf road. That road returns me to the long and winding to respect ratha-b hojana-vrksa.. One of the folks cries out as I go by “this is like the Tour de France and here's a bottle for you but it hasn't got water.” “I'm a tea-totaler” I replied and pushed harder to make the sandhya.
This evening I recounted the story of the wolf spider I saw last week in Bhakta Blade's absence and he told me I had to go out and get the things from the deck 'cause he was afraid that the spider would be waiting there to pounce.