“What is this?” queried Frosty [in his mind] as his body stood frozen upon the walk.
“I used to be able to dance and sing.” he sighed [again, in his mind], unable to talk.
With pinpointed eyes and stiffened joints, he, then, began feeling like his body was being plummeted by hail.
Why was all this happening? It seems to have all gone awry soon after lunch of dried ice and dwale.
“Is there a doctor or fairy or magical hat somewhere in the nearby midst?” Frosty’s brain begged via tried telepathy.
“I am even warming up to the idea of some cocoa.” chimed his cuckoo cogitations. “Then, at least I could pee.” ; )
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