In her youth, she would reply, “Kiss off!,” whenever “Kicks off” was requested by her mum—and she would switch roles in that exchange with her own daughter decades later. But, in her senectitude, she hits the snooze in her shoes without anyone blowing their fuse—because she finally caught life’s hint: neither feet nor sheet will ever stay mint and both life and dreams occasionally require a sprint. ; )

Gently tapped by greeting of each light ray,

Ready wakes nudge as nay to hit the hay,

Turning toss-to-wash bed sheets where they lay

Into rap-full pushes for mind’s new day,

Which sails through each of sets, rises, and play

Until voyage returns to dreams away. ; )

Hot-headed squawks tamed by feathered flocks: love birds.

Lot-heated rocks gained high, weathered blocks: batholith.

Got-wetted shocks rained nigh, flethered hawks: birds’ bath. ; )

Twixt the revetment and the range lied the road—a place that opted to speed rather than impede and which purposed pedalling instead of settling—with its arterial glow and flow connecting raced hearts, new parts, and fresh starts. ; )

Not to be shellfish, but I am going to need to ask you for a tax of lox for trespassing sans knocks—and, you otter be more careful when you are out to deliver near the river because if you want to get your feet wet here, you need swimming gear; so, please, obey the rules, else you will incite my romp to stomp at you a la erupting monticules. ; )