O, Spring, the time for allergies,
Bright flowers, and festivities!
As waves of green surge over land,
The pollen follows, much like sand;
Poor children cough and curse and sneeze,
But powder floats far on the breeze.
Sometimes rain does wash it down,
But plants, regrettably, do not drown;
And watered well when sun returns
They bloom in bright and vivid turns!
This cycle, then, creates more dust,
And kills all joy as fevers must;
It¹s hopeless! Ah, well--come what may
Just cross your fingers, hope, and pray,
Then plead to God, if you believe:
O, mercy, mercy, spare me please!