Wordle courtesy: Sunday Whirl
Drunk with the joy, at the expected,
The turn of events, as they unfurled,
The birth of this little on trumps
Every other episode in the world.
The divine bond of love that bind us,
Prophesized from time immemorial,
Mending any upending sorrows,
Turning the carefree into territorial.
The spontaneous dancing in circles,
The thunderous yelps of delight,
Teetering on the edge of sleep,
Nothing thus far, feels like trite.