Happy Days!

Finding wish-fish on time
and coulding and woulding
on a far star,
the sand of the lost land
was sorry for the drone-dition,
the moan-sition.

Alone-atone  and together-feather,
mothers flutter,
tribal-ditions mutter;
and final fables enable
ban of bandstand;
aban, flail-dom ran.

Happy Days—are they?—here again!