Bush brushes noils’s coils from soaking socks;

Aches burden shoulders via bag of rocks;

Branch snaps crackles’ pops under leafy blocks;

Rustling merits hiker’s amazement gawks;

Mind knows no time of ticking of the clocks;

Hiker rendezvouses with green’s lit knocks. ; )

*Barum-barum-barum…barum-barum*, tumbled kittty’s bum.

“What on earth was that?!?!?”, queried scrunch-faced mum to volcanic tum.

“Insinuation pooh-poohed!”, meowed fur-face ho-hum playing dumb.

“No more mix for you,” sighed pinky. “That garum is *so* not plum.” ; )

Miss Fox, huntress through tough tufts, locks on socks—novelty, knee-high, and cashmere—adorning morning’s madame and, so, now, she, as tufthunter, readies gawks, blocks, and stocks for milady in order to procure padding for self’s walks through each of fields phlox and rocks. ; )

Mathilda heard murmurs whilst she was noshing her cantaloupe rind behind the rubbish bin.

In her crevice, Terri caused a chaotic cacophony when she realized the rumours were, indeed, true.

It so happened that ants had permanently migrated to the neighbourhood’s pants, which had all recently had their fiery fibers extinguished by perspiring personalities.

Unsurprisingly, with myrmecochory on pause until someone could uptake the dispersal cause, ready raccoons were first to raise their paws.

Alas and though, plants have been graping vines about possible protests regarding this novel alternative—as rumbly tumblies of the replacements are further darkening the sincerity in their eyes. ; )

Will casual coast in coat coax out swevens, grounded for so long that they are burrowed into a weem, or will they remain like dormant bears—resisting Mom’s stares and heartful calls for hopeful springs? ; )