There is a man I love,

Who loves a land, called the Brimberry.

In the summer, it is a shallow swamp.  Beautiful, dark waters hide beavers and snakes and cypress knees.  It is mesmerizing, and a little bit scary.  King Pen spent his childhood days roaming the Brimberry, until the sun went down and his mom started blowing the truck horn for him to come in for supper.  If you scratch my husband, he will bleed Brimberry.

In the fall and winter, the water dries up and the Brimberry becomes a playground for creatures of the two-legged variety.

It’s hard not to love a place like that.

Or a man like this.

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