As May's flowers rise
Nothing seems more sad aside
A love's find of hate

©  2017 Jim Davis

O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
Through the clear windows of the morning, turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!

The hills tell one another, and the listening
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turn’d
Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth
And let thy holy feet visit our clime!

Come o’er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumèd garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our lovesick land that mourns for thee.

O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her *****; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languish’d head,
Whose modest tresses are bound up for thee.

The apple of one's eye.
The creme de la creme.
The buffet at the wedding.
Where it's us and them.

The glow of the neon.
Instructing us to buy.
The latest moisturiser
For wrinkles round the eye.

The canvassers cold selling.
The need of starving cats.
The aforementioned wedding.
The shopping for the hats.

So come give us your money.
Your precious hard earned cash.
We'll offer you perfection.
In your supermarket dash.

The things you'll buy tomorrow.
Are better than today.
The new improved conditioner.
The advertisements say.

Consumers to be nourished.
Big spenders treated well.
You'll need a coat for winter.
And scarves and coats as well.

Your funeral arrangements.
A monthly simple plan.
Your loved ones fear when you're not here.
You've left them all you can.

So now our claws are in you.
Please kindly move along.
The facts and claims are always true.
We're seldom told we're wrong.

We're business types converting.
Your little wants to needs.
We'll squeeze you dry until you die.
From birth we plant the seeds.