(With no apologies whatsoever to Alfred Joyce Kilmer.)

I think that I shall never see
A beast so ruthless as a tree;

Whose majestic blooming buds
Have filled my sinuses with crud.

A cheery harbinger of spring,
Oblivious to my suffering;

A tree who pollinates all day,
Plotting 'gainst my nasal spray.

Whose blossoms blow their gentle sighs
Directly in my swollen eyes.

A nest of tissues in my pocket rests
(An extra tucked between my breasts);

Seasons announce themselves with roses
My fanfare comes in blowing noses.

My head fees like a sewer drain,
Who intimately lives with pain.

Anyone can plant a tree,
But only God would do this to me.
The Philolexian Society
This Page