The amber eoan sparkles cotrinate on the eastern col
and I quoz, preterist, feel myself slipping away to dream of ogyian days,
when homes were treen with riprap paths,
and trantles held no consequence in our daily lives.
A darg could be quisquose and leave one begrutten,
or be one which secundates - a tucket of opulence to come.
Every bight, every hardwood, every floweret and petiole,
is it's own ledgit in the novel of your secret soul.
Thoughts of eras past leave me vitative; they bring me halcyon repose.
I wish you all a day of ineffable resplendence!
Huffington Post Article: Big Words Can Come in Small Packages
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