Adelaide—

Astucious where she lay

By having hit the hay

Just as dynamic day

Opted to swap its grey

For beams of sunny ray,

Having answered posed pray

For a nap as okay

To field a preferred play

Of an oneiric may—

At a glade. ; )

Happy Birthday, mom. I love you.

Alas, sharky shark has released fury of brooding mood—not coincidentally, just as brumal season has begun.

Beware the hell of stare and snare—with tidal terror aware that finless fools of the forest are having jacuzzi fun.

When will Santa visit these depths bearing, perhaps, a bag of heating elements only slightly less fiery than the sun?

Regarding Poseidon’s peeved puppy, any warm-blooded guests in his tepid tub will most certainly be welcomed as done. ; )

At midnight, glass was tippety-tapped by betta both red and ready for a fight.

By three, splendid swimmer was preparing flip-a-jump to better see what was free.

Around six, fish’s flakes were summoned for licks by way of terpsichorean tricks.

After nine, in order to refine its shine, fancy fins were soaked in mildest brine.

Timely with tameable tasks and lively in robustly radiant rouge,

Exists a hybrid of decorated diver and honest horologe. ; )

Fawning over morning’s fallen flakes, Fifi now wondered, “What is this gelid fluff on the floor?”

Having been just born in the early spring, she followed, “It has essence not quite like petrichor.”

“I see a happy hue like my sprinkled spots too,” mused the delightful deer to love and adore.

“Clearly, I need to know it more—via nuzzle with my muzzle!” enchanted lady of lore. ; )

Sourdough, fittingly, of course, felt burned by Anadama’s rye drama that suggested he was too easily up-buttered.

As her carbs cacchinated about his state of dead bread, he sliced through, “I would rather be toast than least-of-yeast batter spread to a tatter.” ; )