This week’s words: Mither (make a fuss, moan) Dither Wither Slither Scope Rope Hope Cower Tower Flower Scour Far
Jim Plover was no lover, he was, in fact, a ditherer. He hung around the village square, unsure of whether to dither or slither. He was at his best when he mithered. There was no scope or the length of a rope to measure his mithering by.
He wasn’t the sort to wither up and die, but we lived in the hope his dithering and mithering might sour as he climbed the tower of anonymity.
Jim Plover was not the sort to cower, as unaware as he was, that his dithering drove us crazy. One day he went up the towns tower to view the tower flower show but taken aback he scoured the pots with Ajax, which made the plants therein wither.
“Far out,” exclaimed the flower judge, “Jim Plover you mither wherever you go I think it best you slither away, far away, before your dithering causes us the deliver you from the tower in most unceremonious ways.