There's a man growing down in my garden, He's scattered in pieces and parts. His head's made entirely of cabbage, And I think that's a very good start. His eyes peek from the potatoes, His ears listen from the corn stalks, He hasn't a nose But he has toma-toes And with time he may learn how to walk.
Welcome to The Conservatory. My name is Winslow Smudge, and these are my thoughts laid bare. You have my permission to wander these grounds at your leisure - feel free to enjoy, ponder or mock (if you must). But please keep in mind that some of these thoughts are quite delicate, and all are very special to me.