Your Daily Crossword Saga

Across

This is an in ode to a Nightingale, or at least a poem to somebody named Gail. To earn is to make money to learn is to earn No matter the togs we are clad most would rather be Alice at a restaurant. It is the Hula dance we call life. Most of us are onto this as we now fail to socialize. Per person we wine yet we iron things out.

As we are agile on our feet much like Bo Didley . We had our mothers as pacifiers and now we sit at home, months on end like an olive in a martini finished hours ago. Yet the hope of resurrection glows old. The size of the seeds and hope of the Frau on the eve of rebellion is in a state of disarray.

Cut and paste as you please as the editor of your life’s story. The forest, a snow cap mountain or a fisherman waiting for a bite.

As a wader, a participant your role is the hub of an irrational so-so world we are just smog. We stand playing Keno, the hype mends even though the Lady is a Tramp.

Down Down

The tone is to ostracize from A to Z. How easily we are alone, mere rice on a platter. NCIS leads us through a sea, a thirst for Ouzo as Glen Campbell’s sass mops up a lions share of this indulgence. A wife gives bow less presents posing more alive than ever.

In present mode, horseshoes are slats, gears that let us rely on a charmed duet. Don’t stop watching pots boil, as an ice age and amber fields of bland wish as an army of drop outs learn by rote.

At an odd hour a U.S.N.A grad asks Yogi where exactly is Boo Boo.

“Check the ski lift” or 56 down.