In the corner of your mind, a balloon silently weeps. Its helium secrets, they whisper not in verses, but in calamities dressed as punchlines.
Upon the stairs of yesterday’s newspaper, a forgotten article awaits:
"Giraffe wins stair-climbing competition! Judges shocked by neck similarities."
But the mystery lies herein: why did the meek become chicken soup? Yet one drips, another murmurs, and all imagine bicycles with jester hats.