“Pardon me. You are neither partridge nor perched upon a tree bearing pear fruits, no?”

“For today is twelfthtide, not first-tide, you must be the beak behind bark’s drummed beats. Yes?”

“Glade’s cover is currently canceling your cerulean dreams whilst town’s browns attempt bequeathing to you belongingness, wondrous white-winged wonderer.”

“Alas, as light breaks into dances amidst your den, will curiosity kick into kinesthetic kindling—sparking desire for a free-break to where swevens swim through zzz’s zen. ; )