Spring brings a huddle
Of hooded flowers.
What were they plotting?
They stink up the place
Like the homeless loitering
On stoops and in parks.
Why so yellow, so blue?
Why do they hang out
With the sick and acquitted?
Such a filthy lot.
Now they’ve got rotten heads
Full of bad worms.
After their crime spree,
They go underground
Until the heat dies down.
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