While other geese jumpily encircled the star of the yard, Farmer Astrid, for a chance at celestial seasoning, Gina found herself ever at apastron as hovering hands rained over their range—leaving one bill unpaid its just dessert. ; )

Spaniel’s swevens, seeking sandman, sheepishly subitize saucy skeleton sextets, surely summoning shore snores sans staccato scores. ; )

It was the last room and, so, it was obviously also the least, but it felt royal to her—maybe because she knew it was on her account that the illuminated ‘vacancy’ had been dimmed or maybe because among the minimal accommodations was an exceptionally velutinous sham from which her later dreams would rise. Most would say the space was suitable; for her, it was the sweetest of suites—for it was perfect present of presence off and away from shades of the streets. ; )

Here lies the north, home of the rainbow-kissed reindeer pile.

There lies the south, home of the brrr-show-missed thermophile. ; )

Whether held close to chest or chained to belt,

Be aware the hand your scrippage has dealt—

For if it holds any edible bite,

Parrots perching to pocketing just might. ; )