Languidly Loitering by the Lower Levels....

Languidly loitering by the lower levels of the lesser Lublin literary library, I literally loved looking at the lively, liberally likeable lubliners. I looked at the light, and liberated the erm, photograph?

Anyway. Enough alliteration already.

This museum hosts a panoply of purple Polish polishing poles. Pale purple poles. Phosphorescent purple poles. Polished purple poles. Pugnacious, perspicacious purple poles.

Purplish poles. Painfully purple poles. Perilously purple poles. In a word? Purple Polish polishing poles.

I perspired painfully, perchance to photograph purple poles in a palely periwinkle panic. I pressed the pusher. I felt a pachynsis of my phalanges, whilst my peripatetic permeameter permeated permeatingly. I passed a pernicious perpilocutionist, who plopped a pink peruke on my pate.

Then I woke up. It had all been a phantasm.

Anyway. That's the peroration of my painfully purple piece on the museum of purple Polish polishing poles.