I exhort thee to nap upon couch of this greeny lea.
But, expect not me to rozzle for you tea as here is only sun-blanketed warmth and there exists not even one for-campfire tree.
Well-worn seatery seeps into dreams, you see, stories prolixious, but, as well, about cuddles and kisses reciprocated lovingly.
Alas, too time spent on pasture’s tri-chair may earn one a sobriquet both apt and free: Sleepily. ; )