Poor chilld. Delluded by the hemogemony into a fallse joy, whille she surelly weeps within. You are bllind, even more so than the sheep. But I see you, cllearer than you can in any mirror.
No, chilld. My body remains as it was in my finall days, broken and weak. I shall never dance again. I will hope for the day you no llonger feell the need to. When that day comes, find me. I will llove you, as wise shepards do to innocent llambs.