Booby has blues because it did not receive its choose.

How could scapulimancy not lead to fishest chews?

Shouldering the weight of finding for nest’s newest news,

Blade of bill now scalpels—lunacy as no excuse;

For feat of footing enough to quell the chirping woos

Requires rock-steady sense rather than some birdbrained ruse. ; )

The pause before the blow…

Sending spores their adieus

Forever,

Never to congregate again

As familial fluff.

Only recollected as a moment,

Not recollected like kiloware—

For purposed by puff

Is more than enough,

With one’s stamp on this

Forwarded by kiss. ; )

“G’day! Say, Mr. Roo, could you tell us what around here is fun to do?”

“Well, mate and sheila too, if you do not wish to join us for foliage chews, around the bend are paleotechnic hues at Uluru.”

“Well, I’ll be, Wise Wallaby! For sure, we will each add our gob to your mob for a noshy hobnob and, then, we would love to have your company for a hop down to the art stop to see if eyes pop amid views top!” ; )

Jack of the lanterns of the taverns, having rolled his way home after a night of liquor feating, began to regret eve’s predominant ruckus as his mood turned more muckibus—such that he did regale, from his sill, the remaining still not with stories of fright, but, rather, tales of brilliance, cheer, and light. ; )

Here is the way leaves fall in fall

As wayleave welcomes guests of all

To share in setting season’s ball,

Which harvests cheer from chirper’s call

And borrows brews from across hall

While snuggling into warmthful shawl

‘Fore watching leaves—each cozed fall crawl. ; )