His flesh would be cool. Just enough to keep me from speaking. And the days churned by, navigable sorrow. That March was icy as Grandma's good looks. We chanced it.
Star thistles float.
He knew his way around a polka, led her quite a dance. Can't hardly call them lovers, though they had 3 glossy sons to shine through all the gloom that was, and still is, Illinois. Irv of the Shiver, Irv of the Stutter. I navigate by feel and by the stars. Oh, Little Dipper, Little Tipsy Bear, my Grandpa could make you light on all four feet.