The last day of May, I offer this as a eulogy of sorts.
Another acrostic poem. Something which is quite terrible when you think about it. An indifferent person can be a dangerous thing, but it can also be a survival mechanism.
Presented without further commentary.
A thing to celebrate and cherish.
You could say I wrote this, a rare rhyming poem, for my brothers, who are both more or less miserable this time of year. (And they have told me how they love September, when all the pollen and stuff is gone.)
An acrostic poem for one of my favorite flowers.
Beautiful creatures, they are.