Dear Laura,
     Alas! I am struck with a torture most heavy on my heart. Love, I fear it must be, for there is a Norn and when I see her, betwixt the incubator and the fair tomato tree, my heart aches and groans beneath the affection harboured in my breast. Pixie-like, is she, and pinkish flax in hue. And love a thing more? Oh! I cannot say I do. I approached her one fair Albian day, arms laden with fine berries, cheese, a toy or two, in hope to please the little maid; the fair Norn flower! I crouched beside her sleeping head for hours, hoping only that she'd wake. And joy of joys, soon enough her sweet head rose, and gazing into unfettered, blinking eyes I proposed: "Fair em! Fine babe, delicate Nornish entity, oh dazzling one, angelic with the greatest faculties of the Shee: could you find it in thee, the kindness to love one such as me?" Quoth simply and beautifully she: "em coo", yet unable to answer or methinks to understand my words. The sorrow broke me, as now I tell. So here I beg: wise Laura! Agony Aunt, reveal to me, what could the problem in my courting be?
- Thespian Lover