If you bug your lady in her happiest place one too many times, expect a deserved castigatory reply—even one that rhymes.

As well…

If your garden’s ladybug dances upon each floral feat it climbs, expect its celebratory jig to create rain days for wind chimes. ; )

Polly heard a gentlest whoosh as her pursed lips breathed life to blows via push.

Then, she heard a subtlest schloop as each bubble departed its soapy loop.

And, of course, she heard all joyfulest whees from kids downwind the brushing breeze.

But, sans an uber-mic, she knew not that when they pop, they verily skrike. ; )

“Nevermore shall I scavenge a French soiree

Where they serve too much galantine and pâté—

For texture contrasts yield treats tastily new;

Hence, this instead bread just needs some Brie fondue.” ; )

The Neigh Weigh: In a ‘fair’ horse race, bettors who luck the most on the impost merit a roll in the dough whilst, afterwards, ride-eyed equines feast on the last least of hay.

The Nay Way: In a human-race affair, lessors, as the house, buck any toast by a hopeful host—deemed a lesser dreaming of life aglow—without a way to pay. ; )

For last eve’s fine dine, she was down for digesting fills of daffodils, but, now, lackadaisical lemur is finding that cathemeral cravings are up for lea’s daisies regarding morning’s munch. ; )