Day is now done re fishing through ocean’s bellow,

So time has come to flight height for an alight low,

Leaving behind each of V’s sated workfellow,

Heading towards Zs upon downy self-pillow. ; )

His games of plays had been a solid five hours of midsummer night’s comedy of errors and, so, it would be quite the Herculean task for him to break even, requiring him to boost his shaken confidence with a more supportive essence of Shakespeareana—one that would allow all to be well and end in such a state of wellness, too. ; )

Standoff twixt prickly pear and curious cat just might

Consequent in the first blinker receiving a bite

That tempestuously twists tongue’s tales heteroclite:

“Oh, unfriendering planted of prrrturblynest spite,

Thise catten will avengers withle feralcast smite!” ; )

Adorned as sweetheart, but ever adoring street’s heart,

She, with flows sans fella, adroitly turned Out In art,

Showing blowsabella how to play another part—

As pirouettes—from pours of sweat always have their start. ; )

Upon return from sail, whilst traipsing to quarters, he paused mid-turn to relay another farewell to passed afternoon, this time with a fleeting dry cry from each eye, before inner-talking a mild tsk-tsk to tychism in favour of a wowed bow to Taoism—for as splashes and swoops of the sea faded from day’s set, sale of sail was surety that no dance is of chance and all that is enough to be featured as fine must be so by design. ; )