Winter Wednesday. Wet washing. White walls.
What will we write, whispering wood?
Wham! Warp-speed. Whistling windows witness weird,
whizzing worlds. We welcome weightlessness.
Wait? Who wails?
Windborne wag. Winched with waxen wings.
Warning, wayward whippersnapper!
Whirling. Wide-eyed. Windjammer. Whimper.
Wishy-washy waves. Whitecapped wilderness.
Watery wipeout. Wrecked.
Why? Whose whim, weasel wolves?
We weep, wallow.
Where whooping witches waltz with wounded warriors.
Weary workmen worship wily wenches,
Wayward warlocks win wars where windswept
We’d work. We’d write.
When? Whenever. Wood wouldn’t wither; won’t waste.
We’ll witness wonders.
Weave winning words.
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