Botanical Malaise

Vaingloriously, magnolias display
cascading galaxies of lisping light.
Forsythias at the Final Clubs indict
the cheaper tastes of the jeunesse dore'e.
The blatant dogwood spills about the white
bouquets of an expensive Chardonnay.
Immodesties like these infuse our May
with almost theological delight.
A boring, brooding bastard, why must I
invest these vistas with a jaundiced eye,
now crack sour jokes, now gab like a hillbilly,
then like your local madman on his beat,
smell lurking gloom in each enchanted street
of time beatified illiberally?

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