Those logs there are bouncy. Isn’t that daft? It’s called then, of course, the Trampoline Raft. Its owners aren’t bouncing. They’re swimming, not pouncing. Who are they? Why, twins! Listen! They laughed!
The witchlet sisters are lost in snow. Where did they come from? Where will they go? I can tell where they’ll dwell. In the windwhirl’s land where the chack trees grow.
“This is my poem all about bears. It’s not about chickens. It’s not about pears. It’s not about clumsily tumbling downstairs. In fact, as I noted, it’s all about bears. The first part’s about a grizzly and panda taking high tea on a random veranda. The next part’s about a white bear most polar angrily […]
The happiest creature on Boad, Quingcess Blosso has never been slowed. Exhausting to follow, she’ll drain you all hollow dancing up and down road after road.
