I found this on the Young Writer’s blog, apparently it was written by an unknown author in the 19th century, thought why you’d want to do it I have no idea! But it’s sort of interesting, in a weird way.
Winnie and Walter
“Warm weather, Walter! Welcome warm weather! We were wishing winter would wane, weren’t we?”
“We were well wearied with waiting,” whispered Waiter wearily. Wan, white, woe-begone was Walter; wayward, wilful, worn with weakness, wasted, waxing weaker whenever winter’s wild, withering winds were wailing. Wholly without waywardness was Winifred, Walter’s wise, womanly watcher, who, with winsome, wooing way, was well-beloved.
“We won’t wait, Walter; while weather’s warm we’ll wander where woodlands wave, won’t we?”
Walter’s wanton wretchedness wholly waned.
“Why, Winnie, we’ll walk where we went when we were with Willie; we’ll weave wildflower wreaths, watch woodmen working; woodlice, worms wriggling; windmills whirling; watermills wheeling; we will win wild whortleberries, witness wheat winnowed.”
Wisbeach woods were wild with wildflowers; warm, westerly winds whispered where willows were waving; wood-pigeons, wrens, woodpeckers were warbling wild woodnotes. Where Wisbeach water-mill’s waters, which were wholly waveless, widened, were waterlilies, waxen white. Winifred wove wreaths with woodbine, whitehorn, wallflowers; whilst Walter whittled wooden wedges with willow wands.
Wholly without warning, wild wet winds woke within Wisbeach woods, whistling where Winifred wandered with Walter; weeping willows were wailing weirdly; waging war with wind-tossed waters. Winifred’s wary watchfulness waked.
“Walter, we won’t wait.”
“Which way, Winnie?”
“Why, where were we wandering? Wisbeach woods widen whichever way we walk. Where’s Wisbeach white wicket, where’s Winston’s water-mill?”
WistfuIly, Walter witnessed Winifred’s wonder. “Winnie, Winnie, we were wrong, wholly wrong; wandering within wild ways. Wayfaring weather-beaten waifs, well-nigh worn-out.”
Winifred waited where, within wattled woodwork walls, waggons, wheelbarrows, wains were waiting, weighty with withered wood. Walter, warmly wrapped with Winifred’s well-worn wadded waterproof, was wailing woefully, wholly wearied. Winnie, who, worn with watching, well-nigh weeping, was wistfully, wakefully waiting Willie’s well-known whistle, wholly wished Walter’s well-being warranted.
With well-timed wisdom, Walter was wound with wide, worsted wrappers, which wonderfully well withstood winter’s withering, whistling winds. Wholly without warm wrappers was Winifred, who, with womanly wisdom, was watching Walter’s welfare, warding Walter’s weakness.
“When will Willie wend where we wait?” wearily wondered Walter.
“Whist, Walter,” whispered Winnie, “who was whooping?”
Welcome whistling was waking Wisbeach woods when winter’s windy warfare waxed weaker.
Winifred’s wakefulness was well-grounded. “We’re well, Willie; we’re where Winston’s waggons wait.” Without waiting, Willie was within Winston’s woodwork walls. “Welcome, welcome, Willie.” Winnie was weeping with weariness with watching Walter, weak with wayfaring.
“Why Winnie! Wise, watchful, warm-hearted Winnie,” Willie whispered wheedlingly. “We won’t weep; Walter’s well. What were Walter without Winnie?”
Wholly wonderful was Winifred’s well-timed womanly wisdom, which well warranted weakly Walter’s welfare. Whenever wandering within Wisbeach woods with Winnie, Walter would whisper, “What were Walter without Winnie? Wise, watchful, warm-hearted Winnie!”
[WT – weirdly wonderful wording what?]
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