The hurricane sits in trees, the earthquake in the grass,
Shall I kiss the poison ivy, or the snake in the grass?
Windbags rant, the minions chant, a cataclysm is imminent,
Time to anoint the pirates, and bury the prince in the grass.
Worker geese are stuff-taxed, that the parasites feast on foi gras,
Gorged with the orchard, thugs claim a stake in the grass.
Murmuring rivers, flourishing falls are cloistered in barrages,
Parched and starving caravan suckle snowflakes in the grass.
Uma for an ounce of wine they will undress many a vineyard,
Soaked with deathly odour are the crusted mud cakes in the grass.