Allergics' Prayer
(With apologies to Robert Burns)

By Eyrn Huntington
O, how I loathe the red, red nose
   That ever runs in June;
O, how I loathe where Scotchbroom grows
   Its sunny pollen plume.

How unfair this torture mine,
   Inflicted with a flower;
While others breathe a sweet bouquet,
   I crouch steaming in the shower.

For me, no strolls along the bay,
   Unless it's raining hard;
The usual gift of a summer's day
   Is head pain like a shard.

Exempt me from the pollen count! Spell
   me, if it's in your power,
When inversions waft up straight from Hell
   To orgy with the flowers!


Loss  | Vashon | Services | Art | Poetry | Store | Contact

© 1999 KotaPress All rights reserved.  ISSN 1534-1410
Please direct comments regarding this web site to