Birb’s brain knew worms were had by early ones,

But parroting wisdom was for the nuns,

So later lory, thraward in theory,

Ever opted for arvo’s wheat berry. ; )

Having worked like a horse riding into an oncoming cavalry of blazing saddles, his hands felt as if they had been handled by a creme de cheval-de-frise, so he led himself to water and choiced to let skin pink bathe in healing drink. ; )

Tree’s twin twigs each agreed

To let blows carry seed

Easterly into ground,

Westerly upon sound—

With whispered promise kept

By wind’s chirograph prepped:

To live by fate afloat

Or sing spring’s next new note. ; )

Upon the sill, they did just park—

Feline duo as home’s ethnarch,

Too out-tuckered to clear the realm

Of missed mices now at the helm

Of each holed wall and squeaky floor

Echoing back their kitties’ snore—

A purr-fectly whiskered dream sneeze

That permits chase for choicest cheese. ; )

I heard that being a palaeontologist’s pup has its perks—boney ones—and that astronomers yield toys that are out of this world, but as the melancholic mutt of a banal boffin, I can confidently assert that science is for the dogs named Lucky rather than the ones named Blue. ; )