🐦📖🌾 𓆱 Townlets adorned with memories unvarnished or forged, a mother who sought and she to never recall. Forgotten they were, by word, love, or sin. The Croon made a promise, unknown of what's within. "I will sing you my truth!" voiced the overwrought rabbit, "And so will I!" howled the hircine. The conifers twirled, yet the cervid stayed quiet. Music swung along with the crowd as they riot. Be all ears! The Lark is willed, with songs of origin: from huts to cages, from house to hills.