Kylie’s kenning kept ketch’s kin kilometred; kayakless, keying karma, K keenly kited kisses—kiboshing kink, kithing kindness. ; )

Meeps [and moops] of marconism would be too hazy.

Paper-padded, pointed pigeon would be too lazy.

Text message by application would be too phrasey.

Phone call twixt thin wall and enthrall would be too glazy.

Extra-sensory perception would be too crazy.

So, simplify your ideals via ‘hi’ by daisy. ; )

Seashell hawkshaw seamlessly walked and saw,

Searching and seizing only those of awe—

For Sally’s surplus pulled lots for a draw,

But Lucy’s instinct nixed need for luck’s flaw. ; )

Oh losh, oh dear, fretted the frosh deer who had just finished their moss nosh only to find themselves—good gosh—now awash in a slosh of fog squash misting blog tosh. ; )

Oh, hey, away from the feeder we shall stay and, as well, if we may, each of us—Jay and A.J.—do wray the drey’s stray, who brought a foray of play upon our tray snapped to seed bay, whence there is, now, no say for a fair way—only implied fray with cray grey. So, today, we lay selves where each sun ray and every tweet re may meet to make it all okay—some place aligned between dismay and gay. ; )