A small grave in the garden.

A writing challenge I issued myself. Alliteration and assonance throughout with each line proceeding through the alphabet for as long as I could make it make sense.

Any and all air avoiding aviators
best be betting brittle bribes
'cause cats can't call compassion;
deftly dishing doves due death.
Every eerie eaten ending
forgetting fate for firm found findings.
Growing greener garden graves
helps hot headed helping hands
in idolizing its impinged identity.