Damsel’s stoic stare. Blonde’s lighted hair. Lady’s aura fair. Scanning for charming care, Rory Ruritanian awaits. Her prince’s mare. Sir’s valiant dare. Settling of lair. Connections rare. Sunsets as pair. ; )

As tastily carefree bug loops a trail in the mist, Liza sits in awe of the bug not yet inside her licked jaw—until pencraft’s ‘eat me’ finally meets its insist. ; )

If a horse experiencing thirst had once, by a holophotal lighthouse’s guidance, been led to a saline sea, then, of course, that horse, presently leading a band, would be prone to advising its mates to abstain from a drink from dusty desert’s watering hole—even in spite of little-lake’s lovely lambency emitting welcoming plops to encroaching equines’ clops. ; )

Feet, as pataches, sail around ceiling’s sea-ling, attempting to connect light patches so as to board boredom with a mutiny of happy tappy-toe scratches. ; )

“Honk, honk, honk, honk!” honked Gertrude to Genevieve as the dam broke way, letting the pond disembogue into the river. “Why be quackers over those crackers? If you do not want to end up in a casket, let us make a different way—towards a shore thing, that forgotten picinic basket!” ; )