One Womans Find

Again it is existentially diminished it's trail being as Ursala, phenomenally unbalanced to find a way, without pheromones tail of spears. These hers, it's trail mixed with other crumbs, one tired ant tries to climb up her clean window, in need of more than the six other feet, it left behind, on some marble twin sleds. Still grace is grace, as you watch, smiling glad you are not it, some maniacal ant loyal to Regina having few rumbas we her loyal subjects taste the known scent of these it's intertwined kamikaze missions. Still amazingly amused, a muse or not, the ant has more than a few pens left in it's small heavenly, is it's endowed pin filled mind, as it draggs the whole hog into the hole.