Another Sonnet For Spring

Phooey on sonnets 'bout flowers in spring! Those moldy crotchets are trite and cliché. There's nothing 'bout flowers that makes me sing, Ne'er to my love a bouquet would I bring, She isn't keen on that stuff anyway. Here is a list of a few other things She coyly suggests she'd prefer I bring: A silver Rolls Royce, a Tiffany ring, Deed to a villa or castle in Spain. To do so I'd have to live on a string, And debt is a very cumbersome thing. She smirks in reply, "No gain without pain." If one day my love's dear neck I should wring, Sing Sing, I hear, can be lovely in spring.