On a broad plain, hot and sparsely watered,
in the shade of two primaeval ferns,
relaxes a Victorian accountant,
You see this marvellous machine of mine?
the Mad Professor giggled; It produces
clouds so utterly corrosive that the
smallest patch of mist could
eat a village - villagers and all.
Between our world and others
there are links - not navigable, but
from time to time they give a glimpse
of what it is they lie between;
they are small and almost sentient -