The twirds and swoony-boobs
are all aflutter and atwit –
Sumer is icumen in
and they can’t handle it –
without, that is, expectulating
through the greeny air –
ferflucking impolitely
just as if we weren’t there.
While they crudely celebrate
June’s all-too-longest day
by rudely eskajaculing,
we’ll look the other way.
.
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