The new house had such short stories it looked like a bungalow for a family of demons who had no swine.
My house is rather novel.It has no gravity at all.It suits my sins of humor as I float into the library for an evening browse
The total volume of my husband’s library would be about ten suitcases plus an Oxford Dictionary.Tell God
I booked a cleaner for speeding in the kitchen.She said Cordon my English,dear.I never knew you were the sixth woman.
I do love a chocolate villanelle for a dessert.What did I say? Well you spell it,then.
The life of our current prime minister is of no literary value to poets and that speaks half a volume.
She had no magazines until he brought out his gun.It even had a bulletin.
She likes romantic novels except they only have one theme.Why don’t they read Euclid before bed. I did and see the effect or should I say ,no affect?
I am reading a critical study of Sylvia Plath’s writing… she did it by hand!So did her husband.that tells a story.Short, of course.They spilled the ink.They had no Ariel then you see.Since then it’s made his fortune…
He just keeps rewriting his narratives and so should we all.Never confess unless you get paid.
How my heart sings 