Eleventh was Door Sniffer,
a doltish lad and gross.
He never got a cold, yet had
a huge, sensitive nose.
He caught the scent of lace bread
while leagues away still
and ran toward it weightless
as wind over dale and hill.
By Jóhannes úr Kötlum / Translated by Hallberg Hallmundsson
Pictures/Copyright©Olafur Petursson
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