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What for and why can't you delight
In sphygmomagnanimous, spicate spring?
Throw out the shutters, inhale like a bellows
In reverse, run higgledy-pig across the lawn,
The crocus-permuted, grandiflorent lawn,
And round like a robin the old oak stump,
Flap like a genuine c**k-a-doodle
Delivering news, and achingly how-oole
As the breeze picks you up and whips you around
The cherry loquacities, to plop you down
In a downy-down mass of
Jonquils and scillas and waxy-lipped tulips.