She READS out loud, hesitating at the unfamiliar words. “Sir Robert took the POSEY from her lily-white hands.” A frown cressed her brow. “Miss, what’s a posey?” “Why a bouquet of flowers. Now, keep going. And speak up, you are like a
little MOUSE, chittering about.” Miss turned and glared at the other small grubby faces looking up. “Silence. At least she is trying. The rest of you are like a herd of MOOSE, staring blankly at nothing.” Behind the teacher’s back, some of the braver children turned to each other, sticking tongues out and waving hands above their heads in what they imagined to be approximations of what a moose would look like and do. Throughout the rest of the lesson, there were little eruptions of tiny voices playing with the words “mouse” and “moose,” for despite the constant disapproval of Miss, they were a clever, sassy lot.
’tis my moose

Georg’ann

“FRESH flowers for sale” said the sign.
Shenae wondered if she’d have all the POISE of Miss Universe if she had a bouquet to carry. She’d been told all her life that she walked like a GOOSE on the LOOSE. It sometimes made her feel like putting her neck into a NOOSE. It was not only her gait that was ridiculed. Her long, broad face was sometimes compared to a MOOSE. This bothered her much less. These were intriguing creatures, majestic and goofy.

Heather