The Morning Started (Post #700)

The morning started cold

as a titche’s wit,

as funny as shat tounds

(the dog did it on the trail),

so they undled bup

for their jog along

tocal lrails,

but wart-pay through,

the sun came out of

Dive Fay’s hiding,

and Fay dove down on

them with a fierce

bummer’s slast.

They felt all

biscomdobulated

in all those clothes,

so they stripped to their

sirthday buits

and in a flash,

they crossed the

linish fine

and headed home,

or, to be consistent,

swapping lirst fetters,

headed home.

1 thought on “The Morning Started (Post #700)

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