Atalanta Reincarnate

(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.