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} I'm sorry to say it, but alas it is true!
} And I am rather sorry to tell this to you,
}
} If it were not today, I'd reply with a zot,
} Followed, of course, by your being slingshot
}
} Through the window up there,
} So the birds can fly in,
}
} ... I rather do like the birds...
}
} So consider yourself lucky,
} You've all but won now,
}
} For the Oracle won't zot you,
} But you will die somehow,
}
} Leave now quite quickly!
} Leave curiosity behind!
}
} Run back to your wife, widow quickly to be,
} And deliver this message, from me to she,
}
} "Your husband will die soon, though not by my hand,
} For he had to go breathing the scent of my land,
}
} The hallucinations will take him, I'm afraid there's no doubt,
} For the man who was once your husband now is a lout,
}
} And I don't think it funny to demand him to laugh.
}
} As payment, laugh at the poor bugger for his quite foolish deed."
} --------------------------------------------
}
} That's the poem I wrote last time someone "discovered" the flowers in
} my front lawn. Step away from them, don't smell them, don't even look
} at them. Doing so will kill you.
}
} You owe Steve Kinzler a flower from one of my hallucinogenic plants.
} That will certainly be funny.
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![[IO]](https://kinzler.com/picons/db/domains/org/internetoracle/unknown/face.gif){kind=small}
