The sheep's bit and the abecedarian. It was love at first sight. One was cataloging all the plants and photobionts in the forest, alphabetically, of course, when the other sauntered over, ripe as a juniper titmouse in spring. The bacchanalian creature bleated coquettishly, batting its heavy-lidded eyes, and turned a rosy-finch shade of peach. The gray-crowned abecedarian, unfortunately weighted down by a crippling cachexia, was barely able to recognize the beast's flirtations. The dog-lichens were in full bloom; the dactyl of spring, metrical feet of verdant green. Just then the abecedarian dropped her work and was flushed with ebullience; the sheep had handed her a shell-flower of the rarest and most beautiful form. The seaside sulphur rim lichens also seemed to her a thing of fabulation; she touched the daisy spurting from a gnarled rim and shuddered. Such a gaffe! the sheep seemed to say, in disgust. "I only wanted to touch it," cried out the abecedarian. Knowing full well there to be no excuse for such blunder. The antler-lichens who, until then were flowing and yearning in the sun, fell as ghosts. She sheep, who was actually a very prominent haberdasher, placed a grayish thistle on its head and was off. The spring, coming iambic, fell short of summer. The abecedarian looked up guiltily from her hamster penetration test, feeling the jackanape that she looked. A green-tailed towhee shuddered in kinetic response to the moment.
