A poem doesnโt come out and tell you what it has to say. It circles back on itself, eating its own tail and making you guess what it means.
Franny BillingsleyI like rain and mist. I've never understood why people exclaim over bright skies and bushels of glaring sunshine.
Franny BillingsleyFather sighed. โPlease spare me these arguments of yours.โ โWhose arguments should I use?
Franny BillingsleyI am entirely well,โ said Eldric, โwhich has Dr. Rannigan exploring first one theory, then another, trying to understand. But not being a man of science, I donโt care about understanding. I simply want to go outside and break a few windows.
Franny BillingsleyI might be a wicked girl who'd think nothing of eating a baby for breakfast, but I'd never allow myself to get expelled. It's far too public.
Franny BillingsleyThe handkerchief dabbed at my forehead. 'Ouch! You'll have a fine-looking bruise tomorrow.' 'Then you'll be able to distinguish me from Rose.' The handkerchief paused. 'I could tell you apart from the beginning. You're quite different to each other, you know.' Perhaps he could tell, in the obvious ways. The odd one was Rose; the other odd one was Briony.
Franny Billingsley