Something Sounding Silly. Still, Stuff Happens.

Words. Words with weight, wont to withhold worldly withering wants. Words will withstand whilest wounds of wonder will heal.
How a hardy heart heals, hardpressed while hoping to honour a honourable heroine, worthy of high praise.
Poor praise, poor practicioner of praise, prompting persons of pathos past points of comfort.
Comfort cannnot continue, could only cause conditions of calamity, culpability coming to corner the fellow.
Fine fellow finds his focus firmly fixed on feminine fingers, fingers from a female found infalably fine. Now finding his feet haven't found footsteps, forces his focus to shift from the fair to the forest, free thought affirms feeling in his mind.
Many modest moments of marvelous mirth mold the minutes passing by.
But, the bubbling bounteous boistrous, but blessedly brief, buffoon blunders: why?
Why would Beauty so bestow blessings, when a wanton wearysome wanderer asks?
Affrimation then occurs, as memory arrives armed with accounts of actions taken.
Tickled, torn and tremendously touched, the tired transgressor thanks that God.
"Glorious God, I give thee great praise. The gifts you give, the grand, gargantuan gifts of grace, grant goodness to your sons."
Sons of the Saviour, sisters too, sing praises of the Good God!