Well, Yes: People Write Poems

In The Middle Of A Garden Grew A Rose Tree; It Was Full Of Roses, And In The Loveliest Of Them All Lived An Elf. He Was So Tiny That No Human Eye Could See Him. He Had A Snug Little Room Behind Every Petal Of The Rose. He Was As Well Made And As Perfect As Any Human Child, And He Had Wings Reaching From His Shoulders To His Feet. Oh, What A Delicious Scent There Was In His Room, And How Lovely And Transparent The Walls Were, For They Were Palest Pink, Rose Petals.

Every Town, Like Every Man, Has Its Own Countenance; They Have A Common Likeness And Yet Are Different; One Keeps In His Mind All Their Peculiar Touches.

He Found Whole Figures Which Represented A Written Word; But He Never Could Manage To Represent Just The Word He Wanted - That Word Was 'eternity', And The Snow Queen Had Said, "if You Can Discover That Figure, You Shall Be Your Own Master, And I Will Make You A Present Of The Whole World And A Pair Of New Skates." But He Could Not Find It Out.

He Looked At The Little Maiden, And She Looked At Him; And He Felt That He Was Melting Away, But He Still Managed To Keep Himself Erect, Shouldering His Gun Bravely. A Door Was Suddenly Opened, The Draught Caught The Little Dancer And She Fluttered Like A Sylph, Straight Into The Fire, To The Soldier, Blazed Up And Was Gone! By This Time The Soldier Was Reduced To A Mere Lump, And When The Maid Took Away The Ashes Next Morning She Found Him, In The Shape Of A Small Tin Heart. All That Was Left Of The Dancer Was Her Spangle, And That Was Burnt As Black As A Coal.

Now, If We Only Had As Many Casks Of Butter As There Are People Here, Then I Would Eat Lots Of Butter!