Doggo, at this point, had had quite enough

Of mum’s stories regarding kitten stuff,

So at her worn words he did counterbuff

His toughest and most recalcitrant ruff.

Now, she reads on past his unheeded huff

With new, no-mew tales about pups who puff. ; )

Though a windbag may bullyrag your steady stance from quite well to bent hell, look to rooted strength for grace, whence a turn towards heaven will quell the fell. ; )

Her synderesis, for Tess, suggests there is no sin in less of dress, especially if its essence does bless steps of cheered swing releases. ; )

He had heard whispers amongst the herd, but, still, Ivan was indeed caught with his pants down—or, rather, his skin skilts skipped town?—when he awoke to find that he was the only antelope who did not elope—and that, now, amidst a lush hush, he was lone, lea was free, and, oddly enough, scape coated his nape like a hug of snug, remedying distancing, departing pull of rug. ; )

If you bug your lady in her happiest place one too many times, expect a deserved castigatory reply—even one that rhymes.

As well…

If your garden’s ladybug dances upon each floral feat it climbs, expect its celebratory jig to create rain days for wind chimes. ; )