The /a/ is first and has a thirst for vintage “Ah!” and mad “Aha!”

“Look at me,” shout super /iː/ “Whoopee! I’m beep, receipt, feat and belief; I’m ‘Oh, baby!’, superb ‘Very!’, I am the sound of happy /iː/!”

In /i/ or /aɪ/ we all begin to win and whine and sin and sign, a malign twin, sublime chagrin.

Unfortunately, all do not know the amazing power of wonder /oʊ/ in super-fabulistic, “No!”

/juː/ represents the U-of-You and your advanced, mature “Mon dieu.”

/p/ is like me, it can be crass or passenger in the first-class.

We and /t/, both tote the tiny, timely, tawdry breath of life.

The common tongue well knows the /k/ in key and car, but in rojo and rumba a fancy tongue is found in /r/.

“What is marine, quite often seen, a lovers dream — its /m/,” I scream!

/n/’s as common and as wanton as is Nitrogen.

Letters are promiscuous, phonemes unambiguous.

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