Peteroo's Blog

Dreams of mice wrapped in Muenster may sound cheesy, but, in fact, it is just oneiric polysemy.

Booping the nose of a slumbered feline seems a tad-bit risky. Tychism suggests end may be lick rather than bite, but, still, have ready some whisky.

Mewers enjoy short stories before they konk out for the day; an opusculum about mowsers makes an ideal hit to the hay.

Meow, bumfuzzle not a sleepy kitty by fuzzing their bum; they do so enjoy their wakeful time smoothing it with their tongue.

Whether they dream of being a lion or an inside kit, may snooze bubbles pop with joys of nip and wit. ; )

Rooster blue, who gathers around you? Did your call at dawn new friends spawn? And, will they break into their day with a hopeful sashay?

Alit on a griseous perch, you represent to your flock both a noble stance and a royal hue, inspiring your followers to live as boldly as your cock-a-doodle-doo.

Bags over shoulders with vade mecums in tow, your brood is ready to live, learn, and grow. They are not chicken for that is of doubt; your crew are root-sters–purveyours of clout.

Unique as you are–quite one of a kind, your company is, for all, an awakening find. When eyes are all glancing away, feathers for sprunking–you may. Let them think you a sculpture of metal and rock; if they knew you were live, they might run amok calling, “Doo-doodle-a-cock!” ; )

For this image is today. Brights may fall to darks and tomorrow’s visage will be a matured self of a slightly–or distinctly–other hue. Plasticity is practical for preserving beauty and charm as habituation relentlessly pursues.

The face of courage is neither scowled nor stern; determination stands focused and open–an inner style lacking in dowfarts. Chin up and readiness at hand, missions are accomplished when inner grace exits ablaze.

Locks flowing like banderoles on a ship of its course, the announcement is clear that the vessel of this self sails confidently to the shores of serenity.

Wonder not if the other half of this moiety relays same standards; that which is hidden from view is but the complement to perspective seen. My dimensions run both superficial and deep. To those who see what is unseen and label not that which appears, your beauty is recognized as well–to cheers. : )

This is not monkeying around–I am an ape. And, at that, it may, indeed, be the case that I am aping you and your baby face, but it may also simply be that I am a baby *with* a face.

Oh, no, no, no–I never wear clothes. Yes, I understand other beings deck out in fabric attire with brummagem accessories and feel quite fantastic about their presentation. Such a scene works not for me, though, as snags and sags are not conducive to swinging for sunny spots–it is supposed.

When vermiculate paths between trunks and ropes have dizzied my head and tired limbs, a restful pause is taken until hands and feet are ready to appease new whims.

Thoughts are, now, turning towards procuring nourishment for this fuzzy tum. Fruits and bugs sound delish for my grumbling appetite, though no floral garnishes are necessary for this anthophobia-suffering beast. Ants *in* fruit, on the other mitt, even–if not especially–fearful ones, sounds, alas, like a most ideal feast. ; )