(presumably still alive
predicated on rumored sightings dive
ving fast as blazing saddles,
     her blitzkrieg,
     nothing but a blurry beehive.)

Swifter than Usain
     (lightening) Bolt
Eden Liat
     (thine eldest daughter,
     a mixed hybrid breed
      greyhound and whippet)
     leaves in the dust
     topnotch any racehorse

     prompting speculation,
     she harkens, and begat
     from a long line,
     sans award
     (at trough feed ding),
     many a cooly
     winning super naturally
     infused awk worded Colt

surpassing (with a flash,
     plus even sub track ting
     considerable handi
     capped add halt
ting delay), thine
     prestigious, princess,
     and prodigious exalt
ting marathon running

     smart lee zipping
     as a whip lash heiress,
     thru no fault
     in the stars
     of her astrological designs
oft times humbly declines
adulation, benediction, dedication
     and deferentially finds

reasons amazingly, gracefully,
     and mannerly deflects
     self imposed grueling practices,
     that she quickly grinds    
    into pulverized powder,
     any high top custom made
     high tech lines
     brand name

     threadbare sneakers saved
     with countless
     trophies that aligns
     storied (and stuffed
     animal bedecked)
     bookshelf, even gag
me with a spoon
     humor tinged competitions,

     faux rotten tum ate oh
     (John Heinz)
seeded "ketchup with me"
     hash-tag game
     opened to all kinds
of village people, including
     some barenaked ladies,
     where flashy Mainliners

     dressed to the nines
     (essentially for sound
     garden variety public,
     who generally favor squash),
     that crop up during
     Indian Summer salad days

     punctuates the warm air,
     where one after
     another lover doth appear
     oak kay embracing ephemeral
     pseudo sappy romance
     spine tingling
     as sharp needling pines.