Oh, dearest swishable tea

That stirs twixt both you and me

Hot splashes of enstrophy

In sane drops of energy,

Morning’s that rise grumpily

Turn into day’s warmthful glee

As your sips so handily

Let chaos leave. Harmony. ; )

“Quack!” chirped the duckling emerging in a surprising state of calm.

“Quack!” chimed the duckling whose story so rightly earned front-page balaam.

“Quack!” charmed the duckling after rescuing a dozen sibs plus mom.

“Quack!” cheeped the duckling regarding courage in the face of much qualm. ; )

Awaiting his arrival, she reread her favourite chapter’s pages before, she hoped, rendezvous with luftmensch would uplift her—even if such an ideal unification meant releasing herself from head’s insistence on remaining grounded. ; )

Twixt roughest of romanced seas

And shoreline sanctuaries,

Love’s story sails waters’ tests—

Where patache of compassion

Returns vessels toward course:

Stars north of hope’s horizon. ; )

Indeed, they were bird-brained—but, that did not provide excuse to those who pigeonholed them as bullionists. Sure, many of their cousins ever held fascinations towards radiantly reflective rounds. They, though, like love doves, assigned amore to the nonmaterialistic: warmer weather amid splash sounds. ; )