Hang on, stitching together your page...
My story—well I must somewhat restart it,
reluctantly relay what’s in between
the time when we at first approached the market
and when we saw the cathnid silk machine.
I have to tell of what I’ve vainly wished,
there’s naught to gain by saving it for later.
Of Aeronwy I’m knotted in a twist
and wonder if I have a chance to date her.
I dream of her asleep in sweet repose
(on drinking poison from a golden flagon)
in guard of flaming wyrm and briar rose
and I a shining knight to slay the dragon.
Reality intrudes with shrilling whistle,
and falsifies fantastic flowered fauna.
I find the briar rose is just a thistle
and fearsome flaming dragon?