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.
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