“Dear me, dear me, there is almost one for every thicket twiglet!”

“Deer me, deer me!” was raved, I suppose, by quite the fawning giglot. ; )

Where loves-me-loves-me-not lustrates a broken-hearted day,

Restraint returns mood’s hewed bloom, illustrates another way. ; )

Florence followed the canal, stopping every few to either foot a hispid seed pod into the drink or crush it under a passioned stomp, with the densely doed ones and their uncrushable innards destined for bobbing as buoys whilst the spare-haired [covering orbs plumply aired] popped pleasances into her ear, tunneling titillating tones to top’s traipsing temperament. ; )

For a desert-trekking shoe-tie

Who wants not to so dryly die,

Backpacking like a bactrian

Will preclude life as carrion

As long as steps trade place with rest

When sunny’s day sets in the west

And eyes searching for oasis

Are not tricked by blue hue’s stasis—

Letting each ‘sea-lea’ spot them first

‘Fore hump jumps in to nurse head’s thirst. ; )

Knowing which are for milk and which are for meat—

That sure would have been a propaedeutic treat

To the second-hand farmer with pail in hand

Greeting cows utterly laid upon the land

Whilst Oreo-chromatics around the bend

Were driven towards a rather grisly end. ; )