Deer-Dear, filial feuds for fondness fawning has me, to be honest, in a state of ever-yawning.
Then, there is Santa and his daily antifogmatic to drink before queuing up us by the awning.
As well, antlers truncated seem a bit alogical as a calling point, so we just accept that which the herd does anoint.
We need an escape from life’s usuals in the form of swevens a la hibernate—where lake sips are effervescent and sky starts are aureate. ; )