My outrages grow
Through summer and spring
Pretty petals of yellow and pink
I tend to them in daily fashion
Growing them lofty is my passion

My incense, made of citrus and pine
Will leave you witless
Smelling divine
Displayed on a flimsy shelf I made
At just the right height
To hold your eyesight

My offendeds
Are of the finest genus
I won't pretend they're original
Seeing as the variations are thousands
And seedless
But just between us
It's easy to keep up
Spreading stones through the glass
Like a **** does