For what parts of inner self masked as mild yearn for experiences of the wild?

Peeking towards a tempting space, where innocuous innocence turns about face,

Passing pedology’s whys and writs for musicology’s rousing rise of hits—

As dreams of play with bright ballet bears take nap whilst wonder wanders in darker dares. ; )

Spring has sprung a cool front for this parrot

And she needs to figure how to bear it;

Off the table is a break for the south,

So with petal plethora and her mouth,

She, inspired by that ‘Joseph’ musical,

Technicolours wing-warmer wraprascal

By tap-sapping nest-build skills in new test

That will bulwark breezes from birdy’s breast. ; )

She needs not you to be a size zero

Or give up bites of favourite gyro

In order to be her living hero,

But if you do more wanging of welly

Rather than spend time in front of telly,

It may just improve more than swagbelly

By providing you both more bonding time—

To start activating connections prime

And stop losing via inertia’s crime. ; )

Oh, the grass’s green hue is just fine on this side of the fence,

But your side’s aromatic flora are too temptingly dense—

And only an unversed, jolter-headed equine would skip course

That tickles tastebuds like picked patch does for this long-in-tooth horse. ; )

Oh me, oh my, I think myself I did con

In stashing by direction of that gnomon,

Which had so pointed to a securest tree

At what was, I believed, a quarter past three.

But, now, it is cast ten minutes until five

And I did not place them under that beehive.

Could it have been pointing through fifteen past four?

Eek! Never put acorns by fountain’s wet floor!

Those elms look familiar ‘round the clock of six,

Though I would have remmied that mum and her chicks.

Oh me, oh my, there is never a right time

When storing by the passing of dialed rhyme. ; )