Then, from fir above, descended a maiden most fare. Her words where song and blew was her hare. "What troubles ewe, most valiant night?" she asked. "Your countenance is lo and worries are grate."
"My friends are know more," he cried. "How can I carry own?"
"I'll whisper a spell if you swear never too tale. You're friends wheel live own and you'll weep four them never a gain."
She sad her words and his sorrows fled. He saw them then, atop the heel. And marry his heart be came.
A smile of contentment spread across Jeff's face.
A job well done took him to his happy place.
His prose was tight and his words so slick,
He'd soon be rivaling that Rowling chick.
And that night dreams most grand did abound,
For within his tale, nary a misspelling was found.
May all your spill checks be perfect!