Vinegar Byrnes was an uncouth sort of gentleman, but he had a nice hat and he wore it every day. He would walk with a cane, a most respectable man, and beat off thieves like a rat as he trundled away. A great smile he wore for the whole world to behold, and threw his teeth at swans, but none could find blame as such. And of his adventures many tales would be told, not but lacking nuance, and it all seemed rather much. Vinegar Byrnes yearned for love, an embrace, or a wink, he was lonely as ever that, in turn, was his mistake. He bellowed through the streets as he neared his last brink, love would find him never, until he passed a snake. “What joy,” Vinegar leapt. “What joy and what luck To have found my own boy!” And he flourished with a turn. But the snake liked no kisses for he was no schmuck nor was he or his a toy. Vinegar had to learn. As he bent to the serpent, who writhed in his embrace, and whispered in his ear and felt only love. The snake surged for his mouth and entered th