Of course, Mr. Bunny did not think it was at all funny

That ignorant bully tried to off-shave Angora wooly,

But lucky rabbit was granted mercy from the mercery

When head of textile maker changed pash to carrot-cake baker. ; )

The miss, when demiss,

Would remove her shades

And enjoy the glade’s

Sun kiss—for mood-bliss. ; )

Olivia’s oppidan offering obfuscated.

Ordering one ornateless object oriented on overseeing oneiric ocean outclassed other’s opulently ordinary option. ; )

If a dubious dizzard were to believe that all boobies were blue

And they thought this idea while standing in a yellow-bellied hue,

Then they would be the truest booby to whom all such credit is due

[Even lizard digesting in gizzard during blizzard thinks so too]. ; )

Cary left the cabin in search of a space where she could let her skin feel breaths of the sea; she found sounds unproduced—chirps of birds, splash-plops of waves, guttural gusts—balanced her mind before it went into performance mode, where the most ‘natural’ element she would hold close would be the colophony in her case. Playing was her passion; it was not in any way otherwise. She felt powerful and she felt pride as notes so precisely plucked as planned. The violin was her exhale—the veranda, her inhale. Between the two is where balance found her. ; )