Stop and smell the flowers, but do not pick them—for their denizen ladybugs may just have some heat for your seat—some ants for your pants if you will, who, like firebugs, can burn your turn…if you spurn to learn dares to take never best cares that earn. ; )

Could this be the place of grace sought?

A serene scene for arvo thought?

Deared as an ideal plotting plot?

Will to here’s merit be returned?

Rather than from it be adjuourned?

Like value of one’s brockage learned?

Which facsimile will I choose?

Finest frame or most vivid hues?

What if I prize what they refuse? ; )

Where workfellows are raised, working silos will rise.

But, then, when sky pillows are razed, civility will guise.

And, so, kind men must not be fazed by visions of passed eyes. ; )

Some kindred buds remain closed—

Not due to selfish intent.

Could these shells be wondering

Which way day’s rays may have went?

Perhaps, their joy is teeming

Where each sepal needs a fent—

So that bloomers may dress up

A splendoured style to present. ; )

“Doge on it, mom! I do not want to smile! I am a mean inu—bad to the bone! I would not smile for you if you proffered me a bulse of gold-flaked, peanut-butter-filled bacon bites! I willz fights!”

“Raaah-rooo—your fingers feelz nice. Aaalrights.” ; )