they bring me out in itches,
perhaps they’ve each and every one
been planted by some witches.
They make me sneeze they make me wheeze
they make me want to cry
they make my ear begin to ache
they make my eyes run dry.
But maybe it’s the petals
which always give me pain,
for though they’re lovely sunflowers
they feel like acid rain.
I think I’ll leave the blooms to you
before I start to faint.
So stick your flowers in a vase-
I’ll grow my own with paint.