What you would say if I make up a tale with just one-breath words? The game says to use my wits; so this is my jest.

I will tell of a kid, a weird kid. He was born big and calm, when the sun had just left the sky and the moon hung low. Folks said he did not cry.

His dad liked to drink and he left. His mom liked to rhyme. His genes were a wild mix of gin and rhyme.

They named him Ralph and that was all. At three, he could hear the sounds of things.

At five, he talked back to them.

At ten, he was sad. No one else was like him.

His eyes were sunk and wet most of the time. The air dabbed his tears,"Come here, sad lad," it would say in a sigh.

Tall and thin like a post, with blue shorts and a red cap on his head he would run to the fish pond to see his best friend Fred, the fun frog.
"Nice day, Ralph boy," he would say.

The pond was glad: "Fresh wind, too. It makes me swing in soft waves."

The sage grass cut in: "But the breeze brings pests and bugs!"

A bee, with a big buzz, was all ears: "Well, that's just fine," and flew off, in a flash of red.

The fish shook his tail. "Too loud in here. Can a fish swim in peace?"

The white swan looked down on all of them, like a queen set for her close up.

A fleet of ants rushed by on their way to lunch. No time to stop to talk.

Fred sat by the wide side of the pond. He was wise and took it all in stride. He liked to bask in the same warm spot each day. He hopped high and got wild. Ralph clapped and smiled with all his big teeth. He wished his Mom was near, but his Mom was at work.

Her name was Beth. Her eyes were black coals, her hair gray with a hint of not too much care, but her mind was loud with the gift of words. She worked at the main tea shop and waited on gals who gave her thin tips.

"Have you read "Pray, Eat, Love?" asked a red hair dame.

"Not yet," the blond one said. "My golf tour is near."

"I like deep works," said the one with the white hair said, as she picked a crumb of a sweet tart. "Like John Keats' odes. They touch my heart."

The girl with the red hair said with a sigh. "I read some free verse from Bell Joy. I wish I could meet her."

Beth had a jolt. She was Bell Joy! No one would think she, with the tray full of cups could write just one verse.

She jumped so high that she lost her right shoe on the tail of the shop's cat. Then, with poise, she went to the bath, put a red bow to her hair, fixed her skirt, and put a hint of red to her lips. "I think I can. I think I can." That's all she said.

This is the end of my tale: Ralph grew up to be just fine. His mom wrote a book. His dad came back home. They were much more than met the eye, just like most of all of us.