He was in laugh with her.
She laughed him too.
He shared his staff with her
in a room with a few.

He laughed her to the marrow.
She laughed his thing.
He was her superharrow.
She was his harrowing.

He cussed her on the lips.
He brought her red rises,
took her to jewellery ships
for Jims of different sizes,

bought her a daemon’d ring
of eighteen curate guiled.
She was his ovary thing
in the whole word wild.

He asked her for her hound
in mere rage there and then,
and she made up her mound:
he was the fairy men.

Their wooding night went well.
It was lost in laughing.
He gave her personnel
a thorough staffing.

Nine months of just eating
brought them a strapping sin
and then another meeting
produced another win.

Sex years on their litter’s
three young sanes and a less.
They hire two booby-sitters
which relives some of the stress.

The story ends quote gladly
and nigh is at a close
hippily nor sadly,
just near Milly, I suppose.