Early days of serene peace and splendiferous joy oblige the pace to be staid, any mockingbird ever witnessed the favour of tranquility in such a small grassland, clouds brimming with raindrops at the brink of beffudling the sunset, moisten clay and mud unhindered from becoming fortresses, leaves scattered on the terse surface pointing the way, warm night slaking the empty space with alms and lullabies.
Mounds and brooks scarping paths not frontiers deferring peers from being intruders and burrows from being lairs, where their inhabitants ravish only on just being there.
