AHEM

The damage was done. The horse had bolted. The milk had spilt.  The broth was spoilt.  Without looking, I had leapt. The doctor had been unkept away.  A stitch in time had been unmade.  My eggs had been unibasketed, my fire overironed.  Closing the stable door, I wept and went to seek out greener grass where multibirded bushes and monobirded hands were considered to be of equal value.