The Viking Terror
Bitter is the wind tonight.
It tosses the ocean’s white hair.
Tonight I fear not the fierce warriors of Norway
Coursing on the Irish Sea.
The Viking Terror
Bitter is the wind tonight.
It tosses the ocean’s white hair.
Tonight I fear not the fierce warriors of Norway
Coursing on the Irish Sea.
Two sticks and an apple, Ring the bells at Whitechapel. Old Father Bald Pate, Ring the bells Aldgate. Maids in…
To begin at the beginning: It is Spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black, the cobblestreets silent…
A seven-year-old of my acquaintance claimed that the last number of all was 23,000. "What about 23,000 and one?" she…