Maven of rhyme tilted her head upon reading the coffee clerk’s note.

“Think poetic heart?” she merrily mused at the oh-all-too-apt quote—

Whilst she munched away at croissant even as tumbly began to bloat.

And, while beverage mellowed, she sipped first the cream still stirring afloat.

Then, a rush catching self as the crush on whom barista wished to dote.

“Que sera, sera,” she mouthed at advice already heeded as wrote. ; )

Dawn’s days oft left her feeling teased if not tormented, which is why her mornings, served by sunny rays and honey teas, left veridical the hopes she had for balance in a world both breaking and too fast. ; )

So, Lucky has, alas, lost all of his spunky.

First, why did the chewy toy bite back—that ducky?

Then, she shared neither bacon nor bread from spuckie.

And, finger pointing at paws for turning mucky.

Such tale has puppers wearing tail a la tucky—

Until greener pastures return mood to plucky. ; )

Oh, such a sly fox! Ephemeral will be your state of sour grapes—for whilst at watch, mulling very regarding made mulberry, desired catch will soon drop and victory’s toast will complement not with whine, but morat so fine. ; )

Mr. Roo, how does one, then, explain the mystery ado?

That your nose for posh nosh forever avoids a thorny chew?

Could it be that pouches prognosticate a planty’s milieu?

Or, that paws research the laws of foliage finest and true?

Ach, I see! Who would have guessed that aichmophobia leads you to leaves’ lusciously supple supper queue! ; )