crouching among the dandelions, painting eggs orange

With eighteen years difference, between the first, the least, the most, the highest and the lowest, a crouching rhododendron plays havoc with the minds of the semi-elite. That stations, be they fraught or bitten, would mollify even the Europeans, would take the place of asunder the leftists. That the bringer of beeps reminds me of the meek is only by chance viewable in the rear view. Plague me twice? Or dough nuts as a gift of Kit Kat fingers shared.