in sheepskin and marmalade we palaver and jig our rods in the Nile but seldom, Our sunspots blighted and the constant barrage of darkening's become the strobe wafer-thin ramblings of madmen with catheters for priests, and Catholics for conniption fits for faraway kings to dish about in near-away parlors of unpolished reality. Yea! sans varnish and crickets with rickets and a whole host of dismay, dismayed by gardens- and a whole menagerie - an appeal to a constant NO!
receiving a fair bit of the Real on a stick and a few fairies in the wing ***** of our falderalΒ Β Nesting in Summers, too keen on Winter and anointed by the drizzle of a sumptuous outsized Joy