That gently perturbing hand glides itself faintly both daintily right by the awaiting surface of.. her abstaining pencil-case. Problematic, some will bravely say it, whilst she gathers to gain: a faraway feeling, which suddenly shall bargain itself back in- “Again!!” Against the grain.
“Gravy-train, please,” She whispers it wisely, both wildly. Uttermost silently.
“Be with me.. from here ‘til eternity’s gate”. Fate… … foretold by her forefather’s favourite-best illustrative both illustrated delay.
Slyly, she says – “But will it pay?!” Posthumously, perhaps..