Accidental Prose

Never fear, I am here, to cheer or jeer as you cry in your beer. Leer, my dear, at treasures near. Hear the deer? Afraid before the spear as last year when you shed your tears for in arrears were your peers. Have you not ears? Queer. On your rear, you shift gears with mere amperes to appear shear. Steer clear of your soul’s auctioneer. Seek instead a mountaineer, and veer towards the atmosphere. Shed your inner puppeteer, drop your bandoleer. Be freer, dear, be freer.