A CLING LIKE A LIMPET-PART ONE

Behold,a limpet is clung to the flywheel and the frequency of the bait,upon which a tether is hooked like a boobstrap and a golden fleece,is plaited.Bossom folks,serenaded meadows beneath and the nature's heel hoists the tinging folktales and the abiding folklores,to breathe upon disgruntled but stiff upper lips,to fondle the arcane of a fool's paradise,like a foolhardy and the jurist-vouched foolproof,impecable as the spring ,from the pit of hell. And they passed the footbridge,wobbling but jangling towards the city,to desecrate forbearances.Hence,like a limpet,the footling of the gooseberries,clung to themotherwheel,foxy,foxy,foxiest,founders foxhunting ,wherein hellish fringes,dovetail back to saddle. Frisky and foundled,disdain like in rugby, a flanker,they that flannel the fortuitous,to joxtrot the metropolitan,like the wizard of oggling orgger and the foxhound,gobsmacked at the fountainhead,garbled like agarnet.And they from repugnance the gizzard,they stuck,and they the limpet,they clung.