Bernard Finch and his Trembling Nose

Bernard was young once, and claimed many the garden beeth. But now he is old, and has no teeth. The sand of his waters wades with time, and the clock of life has thus struck nine.
"tis gettin' late on the lonely waters" wandered him to his self "they aught to rechurn some tassles, of garrenshires qually"
"the sand is creepying "cried the unsustained nose, whose feet did seem to tremble.
"tis always assumptions, and never rebutes," Bernard claimed "your shawing is weaker than the rest of the garden!"
the nose doth tremble at this moment
"now i shall slay you foul beast!"
Bernard has thus sent his foot towards the nose and sent it to the padges of soy.
"i merely claimed the sand of north cometh east to the beards, you see not the fathoms in which i pierce!"
but bernard would not listen
"you question my authority to holster the birds, my little nose your curry was stirred!"
"stirred may it be, it taste of tree"
"and tree shall you have, at such a late time, a food from another would make you far too active"
and so they slept in the late of the night, though they did not realise their true song had in fact returned the sand to its place of rest, and they were stuck on the island again in their sleep, to wake again and the nose to tremble and bernard to anger. finches are cool