Then I Slumbered On, a Few Months Ago, Into My Hands

The monk tells how he was found by a fisherman and taken to the holy prelate at canterbury. He is now locked in the darkness of that long slumber, as your vacant mind may recall. The mess i made my hut in cleaning and wiping you down wason derful yonder. Little stream you hear prattling in the valley ran dusty for hours with your washings. And your form was one shapeless bulk of cobwebs and dishonoured wrappings. This seemed a wonderful thing, very briefly told, but it was obviously all there was to hear. Whence you came, a few months ago, into my hands. All else there is to know