10
Translated
Show original
Bet on the wrong horse?
Oh Percival, you were the horse I bet on. After your siblings Layton and Pegasus had convinced me from the start to the finish and you showed similarities to my beloved, loyal companion Kiton Men, you were the chosen one. You should run away from the others race after race. To become my signature, my poster horse
You don't get the best start in the first race, your bergamot-tandarine-combination could have been the decisive advantage, but you messed up the balance a bit. But you are still in the lead. Sometimes the bergamot comes out, sometimes the mandarin, a balance between the two seems impossible. Then you stride past the grandstand at a gallop. A resounding applause accompanies you. The audience wants you to make the botched start again, curious what is still to come.
But you seem to be dreaming of a rosary. Instead of concentrating on the race, you're getting more flowery. It's the rose-lavender mix that's making you look good. In the foreground is the somewhat sweet looking rose geranium. You will lose some places because of this mix. Stunned, the tribune watches your less rosy chances of winning. After all, you are not linear, because otherwise you would not have made the turn.
When you get to the finish line, you step on the gas again. Getting spicy. You're peppered in the butt. Add some softwood to keep you going. The crowd is on fire as you reclaim space after space. No one can keep their seats under this kind of tension But it is no longer enough for victory.
You're going to the finish line in the upper midfield.
Hopefully for the big success, I have used you in many races, but it has never been enough for best performances.
I couldn't help but notice the track is not for you, you're a solid desk jockey. There you don't stand out very much, you're still in the upper midfield and you'll make it through the workday.
However, our paths will part after the generous bottling, because I never really got warm with you.
I guess my expectations were too high.
You don't get the best start in the first race, your bergamot-tandarine-combination could have been the decisive advantage, but you messed up the balance a bit. But you are still in the lead. Sometimes the bergamot comes out, sometimes the mandarin, a balance between the two seems impossible. Then you stride past the grandstand at a gallop. A resounding applause accompanies you. The audience wants you to make the botched start again, curious what is still to come.
But you seem to be dreaming of a rosary. Instead of concentrating on the race, you're getting more flowery. It's the rose-lavender mix that's making you look good. In the foreground is the somewhat sweet looking rose geranium. You will lose some places because of this mix. Stunned, the tribune watches your less rosy chances of winning. After all, you are not linear, because otherwise you would not have made the turn.
When you get to the finish line, you step on the gas again. Getting spicy. You're peppered in the butt. Add some softwood to keep you going. The crowd is on fire as you reclaim space after space. No one can keep their seats under this kind of tension But it is no longer enough for victory.
You're going to the finish line in the upper midfield.
Hopefully for the big success, I have used you in many races, but it has never been enough for best performances.
I couldn't help but notice the track is not for you, you're a solid desk jockey. There you don't stand out very much, you're still in the upper midfield and you'll make it through the workday.
However, our paths will part after the generous bottling, because I never really got warm with you.
I guess my expectations were too high.
5 Comments
Kieran
