The wish
Torrid pride consorts the wishing tree so swine and vines galoring vapid pines does bring recalcitrant openings for lurid cross-patternicities like ferns imploring for goes-a-dowsing the drowsy wolf sheepishly grins a piecemeal quilt now hereafter wins, and won a goodly row and the cause unslept in a tattered curtain wishes evergrain forest were smaller and spent. To make anew the wishing star, aglow the pew of solemn arts, the four-poster bed leeches the ceilings shadows now night is bifurcated and sunlight prances, the hasty parade of dismal greetings, swiss-chocolatiers readied for so-cast dearlings, and so the collar is abreast with fending cries that torture poets like sickly scythes pouring mock-endearment into the lover's crest a merry wake-up a darling chest. The wishbone has curved the day to the beat of the storming east, whereupon the western sun has created easts, so back-and-forth we turn the sounds away I guessed at mysticism and the mystic rays, so vetted foxes of fire sojourn, and free the reddish birds from empyreal homes. The wishing well has cared so deeply but honorable and well-fought are disparate seeds, so planted next to the wishing well in a garden of evil, is the flowers cast for all for anvils, that craft for wishes spent, the wishing well, the wishing star, the wishbone and the wishing tree, quail is a soft catch.
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