A mere whisper of a mortal is a card on a tree. Unopened. Oh what godly prowess is occurring at this time. At this the thistle of time where Theremins and terrapins catch thermometers in spins. Justification is rife. Short day is not a short night and a large whale in a pram or a cot cannot join large amounts of watered down conversation. Move not a mingling mangy moggy into a sack of potatoes as fish is the prefered diet for many of a meow meow. And next the time for the bouncy sun to call upon the planets laden with dinner trays. And all this whilst the giggling goo goo berries are in line formation. Monetary mingling making messy musical mirages. And pus. Yes pus. Oyster. Mr Oliver Oyster does not appreciate such dreadful catatonic category codes. So don't wash dishes in a four foot ball gown. Rapid is the eye that moves thrice. And circles a planetarium. Good isn't it?. Clever isn't it. Very structured isn't it? But when a ring donut carries a pixie on a hot day to a castle it is said there is much whistling. And a bird laughing in a tree. Dance. Good. Goodnight equals good afternoon and also good morning as an aura salutes an aura. Reconfiguration Z
Categories:
theremins, beach, beautiful,
Form: I do not know?