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