Days of the old Bamford board, back when mickfoot was young and carefree

When he danced through buttercup meadows with sunshine in his hair, weaving patterns through the dewdrops, and smiling a smile so fair and radiant that onlookers gasped in wonder, believing that one of the Greek gods had come to life and descended to live among them. When his brow was unknitted and open, and he laughed a merry laugh, and told tales with elves in the green treetops, and made daisychains with little children; when the very earth seemed to resound with merriment at the sound of his silvern voice and his form was slim and lithe and handsome.

Back in those days of yore his name was Denzil, and a merrier man never set foot upon the greensward.

But then an evil came upon him. His waist thickened, and his hair thinned, and he became bitter and angry and sad. No more did the children run gaily after him; now they shrank cowering behind their mother's legs as his dark and brooding face scowled at them. And no more did he laugh with the elves or tell tales that would drawn an hundred men spellbound around the roaring fire in the summer dusks. Some dark shadow of Mordor had crossed him - some say twas lust for an Ipsiwch fan, some say the cares of this world, or mortgage and repayments, had put the bitterness of gall and wormwood in him. No wight knows for certain.

But this we know - once he was Denzil, and he was young and funny. And now he is mickfoot, and he is old and bitter and angry, and not funny at all.

Posted By: Old Git, Nov 19, 11:37:35