Alive Wreath Hardy Laurels

Nope!, this aint a
(non) commercial
Christmas plug for ye,
nonetheless, a greeting

of joie de
vivre buttressed with
(wreath) in this ole
foreign nicked saint wannabe

awash with spiritual
awakening unexpectedly
alighting boosting, and catapulting,
the mood of this

dog gone intro
spective atheistic he
then for merely "actively listening,"
sans texting to me,

(thine youngest daughter) hook
confided a circumstance,
that found her teary
eyed, whereat papa (meself)

galvanizing enervating,
and bold facing
(italicized optional),
a decades long glee

(son) doting dada, (me)
hood did earlier today
underwent spiritual reawakening
experience, where poignant see

movie ling ushered
emotional concessions prithee
lee transcending, and super see
ding ordinary ho-hum

(oh so yesterday...)
psychologically (or psychically)
escalating euphoria juiced being
a humble papa

yes sir re:
vicariously afflicted when,
Shana Aubrey (said
nineteen year old pro genie),

(who lives under
auspices of mine
kid sister in
Bend, Oregon – Voluntarily)

painfully shared her recent
(first) beaming, blooming,
and budding romance
rendered null and void

primarily duet who wah
bajillion geographical miles
from Colchester, Great
Britain, where she

(mine offspring) under
parental care of thee
guardian (angels) Shari Todd,
and George Andrew Dunning

supreme qual lit tee
aunt and uncle respective lee)
spent propitious year,
whence har mo' knee

me lass struck up,
and young lad o' a louver she
discovered without visa vis,
where, the young chap Zak)
broke off (figuratively smote) long
distance elle la gee.

Gnome hatter at my helpless state
hive hilt that being privy at any rate
which parental aye deed eek quate
with darling daughter as a mature primate.