Onto the cliffs the waves did thrash upon the sea-shell sea-shell shore, gusty winds and the foolhardy gallant gay sailors tally-** tally-** tore.
Into that very alive and wizened woodland with willowing tall and deep-rooted trees in tempestuous wild weather where the brave-hearted do attempt to endeavour.
The birds' hearts do flutter as they maneuver across the sky and down below filthy burrowing foxes and dancing then darting deer; gone in an eye-catching instant render ruthless mankind menacing and mean in their direction as they chase in a team.
Bats battle the night's sky, dive and swiftly swoop down and up, down and up, rats also screech and are sodden and belong in the sewer, I would chase them away if there were fewer.
Gallant meandering men in the river-side sip sip champagne sojourning in sultry summer weather and London town where Peter Piper played his pipe. We picked and threw rotten rancid apples at the dutiful undeterred dogs who bark at the bashful brides for we said we would marry them someday, but we lied.
Laughter and drunken fun and folly in the tavern, good fortune surpasses the overhead reckoning raven; for we all enjoy good cheer and red wine, with more gold we would fancifully fine wine and dine, cards and blackjack, it is not his piano playing that we detest, but his shrill voice and to conceal our displeasure we do our utter best. Majestic mother nature in all its glory with dalliance and city folly in abundance.