Prest

The twisted torn tipped off twine told telling tales of Mister Vine. "Oh Vine," he said, "oh Mister Vine, the past, the prest, the passing time. To toward to turn into me told, the time has left yee grown so old. To nest the best, the best be nest, the only thing left, to be test. Let all the known be known to all, the rising of the winter's fall. Let's towards the suns of melted snow, let all the known, for what to know. Know all the Known, know all the not, be not to known, be not to lost." And thus, concludes my story, see, is to be what, that is, to be.