Ten weeks ago, she felt disconnected from the idea of attempting arboretum’s angled ascension, but the angel of naprapathy had, by now, not only rebonded her body’s abilities, but, as well, her kinship with winding’s willowy wonders. ; )

Lightly, she glides with ease of grace’s style,

Adorned in veil’s synchronous wisps of while;

Darkly, she hides the sin of garb’s secret—

Fellmonger’s pixie pelt on soul’s regret. ; )

If Myrtle could so reach that place, she would scratch her inion

Regarding such slighted—and, now, flipped-out—fact—not opinion:

A bird in the hand may indeed be worth a bush’s fair pair,

But, then, there is clearly reason naught for turtle in the air!

“Handler, hands off aquatic, non-aeronautic testudine;

Shoo by own featherless wings—though, first, place me in water. Fine?!” ; )

Love songs are for the birds via

Plucking [heart] strings: currents cross chevalet for play.

Love bites are for the birds via

Grooming [beat] wings: torments floss keeps at bay for yay. ; )

Contemplation

Via

Thinks above drinks

Re

Weltschmerz am fenster

Considers

Swapping

Strife of life

For

Henwife’s rife,

Where

Weathering a storm

Changes to

Feathering a norm—

Of

Hygge earned

Rather than

Hope’s hugs yearned. ; )