By tazza’s mints,

My lady squints—

For shadow’s hints

May need a rinse

And dress’s lints

Merit a wince.

Back

To

You.

It is alright

For date tonight

Sees out of sight—

Not black or white,

But inside’s bright—

And hair’s highlight. ; )

Chick, a delightful tune atop a branch sprouting spring’s sepals sets sweven’s scene to counter the obscene of the unpraised—like lazzaroni…winging away worries in a naysaying Naples. ; )

Easterlies, please.

No, not sandwiches comprised of two slices of toasted extratropics surrounding a medium-rare breeze.

I mean *Easter*lies—as in hoppy tchotchkes and bun-tiful baskets of pastel pastilles amid Cadbury candies. ; )

Bush brushes noils’s coils from soaking socks;

Aches burden shoulders via bag of rocks;

Branch snaps crackles’ pops under leafy blocks;

Rustling merits hiker’s amazement gawks;

Mind knows no time of ticking of the clocks;

Hiker rendezvouses with green’s lit knocks. ; )

*Barum-barum-barum…barum-barum*, tumbled kittty’s bum.

“What on earth was that?!?!?”, queried scrunch-faced mum to volcanic tum.

“Insinuation pooh-poohed!”, meowed fur-face ho-hum playing dumb.

“No more mix for you,” sighed pinky. “That garum is *so* not plum.” ; )