Claws Mewnet seeks milk for life number nine

To cool moqueca’s spice on which he’ll dine

As this French feline of abstract design

Wraps last brushes of vivid verd of line—

For when you are of stature all too klein,

Faint can’t paint art worth meowster’s opine. ; )

Alice, understandably so, felt quite uneasy about retrieving advice from a Bad Matter via axinomancy at the lea, so she ran—zig-zagging a rather clear interpretation for geomancy—until fate of fastest feet had her distanced wonderfully. ; )

Alice, bearing full brunt of wind’s breeze sans armour of trees, headed headfirst through the urban storm front, where welded waves paid no more mind to her than that of god to man. As heaven’s breaths almost guiltily blew her into retreat, she bootstrapped remaining flakes of fortitude—enough to thwart the furious fellmonger attempting to skin her resolve to punctually in-punch for soon’s determined date. ; )

Fear not, shivering snail of leafy pail,

Sheltering from a heavenly assail,

For incoming beast sized of icy berg

Natures as humble, protecting simurg,

Defending all who bear a slight of might,

Uplifting each who lives just right of sight.

So, as life’s blows attempt your fate to fall,

Know some tails tall task taled knights to the small. ; )

Goats galavant, grazing greenery—gravimetric gratitude granting gaiety, graving gruff glowers, generating generational gesundheit. ; )