"Thistle caught a twined, melodic toe; even a smithy’s anvil’s weight could not bear such circumstance. Happening a lark wherein the meager chances roost, calamity joined a quaint but able minstrel (toe, unlike the music played, tapped a rhythm forgotten by the fingers). When lively a poor, undeserving, smiling child met with dark treasure, toe’s mind lit a sound, seething thought. Sharing with the minstrel this unkempt notion, minstrel sang of the bluest dawn. Nothing barring this crafty charm, the two collected the child, dark, lit by the shy magenta cast of the sky."