𝑻was on the ravishing age of the rabbit. Twas an august day of all eulogistic attitude and sanguinity on the autumn lapse, wert nevermore an entity but a baby’s chuckle that bore a floruit fairy whilst enclasping one’s life’s befitting bourne. Then, thither shows a dove trooping with crows.

𝑻hou shalt compare her to a summer's day. Her lambent eyes tinged all realms of goods, exploring the heavens aloft. She foot a foot on the muggy green of the scarcely umbrageous woods. She aheard the tranquil music of falling leaves, which wert purely the tune that escorted her at dawn. Butterflies winged along in hush tailing her petite frame, they wert rather enthralled by her bouquet of sunshine. Honey wert in no match to her mien.

𝑻he warm–toned gradient hue of the firmament collared one’s engrossment as she wert parading along. Thither, she reaped a wild flower underneath her build, ken, as pretty as twas, she wert the one who bewitched the bees. She doth teach the torches to burn bright. Thither then she parted her vintages to sing, melliflous tunes wert aheard, oppositive with one’s frame, enchanted all wings to muse with her.

𝑻hither shows a dove trooping with crows, 𝑰𝒃𝒃𝒊𝒆 𝑭𝒍𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒆.