With sewing time imminent, mewing turns ululant—for when thread darts bobbin, dread starts boppin’—leading pouncing tails away from each stitch, cleaving lounging tales re kits’ seamstress-witch. ; )

Whilst parents, swirling wines, finding finings’ refined finality, then, sip,

Their kiddos, twirling lines, minding miniskirt, mingling minuet, so dip. ; )

“Mum, each foot has turned into a lamb, oh!”

“Not actually, Claudia-pup, but now that mum is up, let us play crambo!”

“Um, is each foot a saged, aged canine?”

“No, they are not both a silver foxy.”

“Are they sapling sisters so spiced?”

“No, they are not squirrels of moxie.”

“Could they be giant, gruff glue globules?”

“Uh-uh, they are not edgy epoxy.”

“I know! They are Scottish cryptids!”

“Sharp guess, but they are not monsters of Ness Lochsy.”

“Mmm…Mum, I am just a dog—short on wit and writ and long to quit and sit.”

“Yea! You won, Claudia-girl! I knew you could do it, my feating-fluff-is-ruff-is-enough little doxie!” ; )

First heifer said to the first, “Hi, high fir.”

Second heifer looked upward and said to the second, “Hi. Y’re a higher fir.”

Third heifer up-moved its head even more and said to the third, “Hi, next-highest fir.”

Fourth heifer, high on hay, said to the fourth, “Hi. For a fir, you are as high as I.”

Fifth heifer, half her herd’s average size, asked the fifth, “Hi. Have I earned, for here fir, highest or fairest?”

Sixth heifer, bearing half-calf in slow-tow, plotted to the sixth, “Hi. Far be it for this mum-sum-some to hi-offer a high fare, but, re the perfect height of both your branches and bark for these patches of unreachable scratches stark, I have more than enough moolah if I could—for her, for me—please, big cheese of these trees, use you as a loofah.” ; )

Mary, intent on traipsing not oh-lord-so-bored walk,

Merried herself across railing’s trailing-spring boardwalk,

Marrying fantasy via nightcapped-with-khat walk,

Merely fancied in fascinator on clapped catwalk. ; )