O wad some Power the giftie gie us

In my mind is one of those Kenyan runners, long-legged and lithesome, loping along the vines, the small creatures turning to gaze, he seems to float along, his feet barely touching the ground, he was born to run.

In reality something must have startled the sad old zombie who staggers his stumbling way, not quite upright, not quite prone, managing somehow to avoid total collapse as he jerks from one clumsy stump to the other.

Second thoughts, some Power, keep yer giftie.

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