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The Legend Of Lake and Diana

A long long time ago during the age of the Great Rebellion, there did live on the Channel Isle of Jersey, a governor on this Channel Isle, from which did cometh Jersey cows that presumably wear warm sweaters from the isle named Jerseys, who say predominantly what Dutch Cows say, and Dutch Cows say Mooui. This satrap's name was Lake Jones, who as an aid to soothsayers, was set to marry the daughter of the Crachettes, the family running Jersey. Anita is ye maiden's name and though indeed she is no raving wench, the Crachettes want consolidation so they hath their ways of coercing Lake in marriage to Anita. There needeth be nothing wrong with betrothel if it wants not the blessing of shire.

Word arriveth from the crown of that yule scones were burning frosty between parliment and the royal family. Jersey, my own land hath sided with Parliment (thinketh thee the Crachettes are all hatte? There be no edam which produceth not mead). Guernsey, the other main Channel Isle- that olde Guernsey had sided with thee king- I thinketh Nottingham! It portends not well for either isle that Guernseys, a type of sweater worn by ancient octupus on a yule night, A Coat of Ye Old Arms! were here from day wan. The King's English is spoken here, French is the second tounge, and Guernesy cows were originally from the Channel Isle of Guernsey.

Herald reached the villagers of Jersey that Guernsey had just got an excellent governess, and henbane had it she was more comely a wench than Venus and the temple she brought us here was so beautious it was on the side of her head.

Lake decided to go on a wily civil visit to meet Diana and her aurora for tryeth to assuage and unite matters between Guernsey and Jersey. He had heard the name's dame was Lady Diana Beth Whittaker. But alack and alot- twas love at twice sight, and this is twice 20-40 vision (she was so warm and fuzzy.).

As the ruckus between the disloyals and royals continued, Lake's memory about the marriage to Anita improved so he got to be with Lady Diana much more, he was struck so by her effulgent pleasures and grace. At some month's duration, he bid beauty, it's starred ship Lady Diana Beth, Fare and Well, one windy March day. Providence of duty was now a stony sea he must sail.

They bid the world it's place, bless thee in a roar of shore, said she was to bear his only child. Sail on! Sail on Lake into the our Lady of a Thousand Bless Yous when she cheers us.

He put off Anita more months, and with cheerful thrift and rue. The tiff of the Parliment with the Royals finally wath indeed judged, and broadside came the war. We all knew 'twould. Lady Beth's sudden expectation of just eight months was sorrow. This was too much, and Dame Beth died in acouchement that day before her funeral-but not after-she couldn't afford so much luxury!
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The juggernaut of history is unseen, wrath, a horse without remorse who neither smiles at human pleasure, nor weeps at mortal sorrow; a horse who merely attends to it's own sense of mathology.

As the hostilities between Boss and the Nobles, Jersey and Guernsey, and the moovers and the shakers, began to boom higher than the soybean that jumpeth over the moon, Lake protracted the wows with Anita some much boucoups, and he remembered her with an inflatable self cleaning christmas wreath, so she could have an inflatable self cleaning christmas!

His son's name, anon, picked from a list of names, was John but Lake ner got to see him once because of the wretched war. In an effort to minimize the impact of the war on both sides of the gulf now widened between Jersey and Guernsey, and to prove John was thought high of, Lake sent a horse of sight of bolt of purest rainement to John special order, so no one would find out he had been on the mother shore, them unaware he was a sleuth.

As the civil war got more uncivil, Jersey, who had sided with Parliment in a war of no small sorrow, got the upper hand, and with a war whoop planned by the London bigwigs upstairs in the tower, a final offensive was planned for the capture of Guernsey in just a few weeks. And who ye may ask, as merry as the month of maid was to be the brains of this operation? The Crachettes! Lake implored Anita to ask her troops to not harm John, he wath and always shalt be his only son John.

I see the dawn and John of youth is riding his horse in the golden dappled fields of, when? Maybe only the age of all time machines no mortal may fall off of, wound up by thousands of sweet winches.

The invaders rode in swiftly, and gratuitously, against orders-a footsoldier slayeth sad John.

For time had become a sad celebration! Just as all about they clowned around like minstrels in triumph on Jersey, Lake was sent the tidings about his son's death. Lake knew this couldn't be, he had to hope for more. Life stood before him on bended knee, with grey eyes that see the the worth of our awesome dreams, and know our infinite triumph. And then he knew his power must be in donation, in the midst of the shouts and woe he had found invincible summer. He wanted all the world, West and East, to remember John. So he ordered the stallion with breath of fire shipped across that wan inlet that trembles in opals and saphires between Jersey and Guernsey to this day.

But a major storm was brewing on the weather map of the planetfinders. As if by an act of Parliment it threatened to send the horse and ship below to the graveyard of the quicksilver galleons.

Yet this horse broketh loose just as the ship sank, swimming unbound, Promethian, to the nearby coast of France. And to this day you can still hear a legend from the locals of a horse they say they see running up and down the west coast of Brittany, and although some say the horse is just a legend, others say the horse is in power on the streets Of The City Of The 7th Spanish Anjels.
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