O idea!

A plunging bottle, a kid.  On the moor drifts a tourist obelisk, portrait thy ultimate hewed font.  He had not idolized a waxy pope, Kant's wisp lilts "Insist a nitwit lout ..."  Th' wanton obscene hint dish.  We balk at ladling air into daily shade, brush Ma's gray twisted celt.  The Bauhaus route signs roar of tie.  I a candid weed, a dodgy idiot; did wildlife ache.  On the verge a-changing Aladdin's voidance to a midday hoe, Orion grew "O idea!"  I'd vow to enjoy the caked occasions this dinnertime for celebrating the birthdays my daughter is paddling through today, Buddha who'd leased, shakes.