There once sat an old farty earl, who was known for spontaneous gross hurls. A pail was kept at hand, in hopes of directing their lands, but more often than not, it had a strong exacting curl.
Once back from a trip, be it by air, car, or by ship, you’ll need time to decompress, collect your stories to impress, while everyone rolls their eyes for you to get a grip.
While they were out for a walk, she was beginning to start a plot, of how he could disappear, of how to fake cries and tears, no one knowing if it was her or not.
Hanging off the belt of Orion, were straggly strings of ions, imagining what they could be, infinite, shattering possibilities, scattering through space like the fluff of dandelions.
The customer of question, made many helpful a suggestion. When the staff tried to explain, the customer then started to complain, and, of course, filed a grievance of aggression.
A day that started out strange, made dangerous by thoughts rearranged, Ideas that seemed fated, quickly lifted and abated, creating a hope possibility of change.
The eyes and body read panic, When realizing they lacked skills botanic. No more garden to tend, For on you they cannot depend, A mutual decision, quite organic.
A kiss was stolen in the dark, And began an affair of dynamite spark. Would they be caught, with tangled feelings fraught, Regret spilling all over what they embarked?