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.
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