An anile a toothless woman, smiling in glee, on this December.
Farewell words, sometimes to write and elide, days in my life.
At 5 pm, to miss a money offering, it looks like singing “Minnie The Moocher” to look for.
For changeling, to our final abode, cuckoo comes.
A spoon, syringes, and a gas hob don’t you need?