Enjoy, did
you, the OyyoFest, my boy…?
E’en though ‘twas held in an arroyo…? Oy!
Fast food for Friday: fried hay.
(Fried hay: it may, at last, my vast hide fray.)
Heck! 'O's: lots look like echos.
(Heck! 'O's pot rooks and geckos.)
I'd land on odd O Island --
land high, and -- please! -- on dry land.
Let her lick Lorne's love letter…?
But let her! Who licks wetter…?
E’en though ‘twas held in an arroyo…? Oy!
(Fried hay: it may, at last, my vast hide fray.)
(Heck! 'O's pot rooks and geckos.)
land high, and -- please! -- on dry land.
But let her! Who licks wetter…?
(a work
in progress)
Mere roars can't crack curved mirrors.
My tears bathe bishops' mitres.
Some myrrh cures coughs come summer.
Dessert…? Doughnut holes in the desert.
Two-day leave, heh…? Let's leave
today.
Herman! Has he harm’d her, man…?
My tears bathe bishops' mitres.
Some myrrh cures coughs come summer.
Dessert…? Doughnut holes in the desert.
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