Birds and the Bees

Dearest springtime, you have come yet again! Bestowing us with the cock of sunrise, Whose doodle-does rise both poet and pen, Musing what’ll be your forget-me-not size. I’m dandy as a lion whose marching, Towards what springs forth from the front of Summer, ‘Till I’m but a silly small lamb arching, Forward away from a Winter’s bummer. If I could choose one lover ‘twould be you; For your handsomely two lips and your bud, Like a fruit I flourish in dawn’s first dew, The glory of your morning pumps my blood. Alas, because of you my crotch does itch, From the poison in your oak you sick *****.