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Sonnet #2

The air I breathe carries flower fragrance

apple, cherry, plum and blackberry blooms

Warm winds waft and wander from east to west

So sweet one would think life creates honey

But the honey wagon isn't on time

the air is heavy with other syrups

Acrid tannic latrine pungent privy

Outhouse odors burn my olfactory

The stench soaks in my nasal cilia

eyes well and water as though smoke-smothered

One must call again and plead, "Please Come now!"

"End the suffering, Bring the pump truck 'round."