This is without doubt the epitome of literary swanicalism. (JTS knows about the swanicles) (Spike)
I place before you what I believe is my best yet.
It is truly remarkable, given that I have been without rhyme nor reason these long lonely hours on the wild moors of Upper Ferretville.
Be prepared to be amazed as I post this little gem. Yes, I know I have my fans and it was their arrival at the rear of Jo's thicket, which sparked my brain into a supernova of intoxication and wordy exhuberence. As I sat on my toadstool to await the gathering throng I saw them from afar. Their headlights illuminating the hedgerows as these happy few, these noble few, made their treck towards my 'umble abode. I saw them and said to myself,
"Look, Byron! see for yourself. They are arriving in their 'droves, of cars'". I thank you. I thank you. I thank you.
BTW JTS, Spike was my hero. I miss him.

"Bipolar is a roller-coaster ride without a seat belt. One day you're flying with the fireworks; for the next month you're being scraped off the trolley" I said that.