Pocketed daisy was not haphazardly picked for you en route; there is no room for pigritude regarding love.
The weald whence this came is home to fanged beasts, in fact, and, also, thorny branches more than enough.
After waiting hours for a snail’s glairy trail to follow him to the sprig desired, I picked the lucky one to which he did not roam.
Please accept my embrace, but, then, I must go scour the littoral scene for a messaged bottle destined to be bloom’s home. ; )