Tulips tucked,
Prepared for breeze
Those April hours
The Wednesday wheeze
When all the pollen
And all the world,
Liquidate
Like milk that’s curled
No sour smell
Just tasteless terror
A fraction of them
Realize the error
They were first to fight
Or rather: to groan
The weary system
The lauded loan
They’re huddled hugging
By meters and miles
Like a Finnish bus stop
Spared the British Isles