Harry Bittercress

Harry Bittercress’ anthesis annually astonishes
the dainty Lady Smock. Her perfect purple petals
were scolded do not settle, he’s but a common weed.
No, she didn’t listen and her pistils oh! they glisten’d
as ‘twixt the meadow and the scree
they dropped their hardy seeds
their wild and winsome progeny.

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