Yellow Flowers (Except for Paul)
A cluster of yellow, so sunny and bright,
They dance in the breeze, a pure-hearted sight.
They bloom with a whisper, a golden bouquet,
And somehow, they manage to brighten the day.
They smile from gardens, from cracks in the street,
With petals like laughter and stems like a beat.
They cheer up the grumpiest mailman in town,
And soften the heart of old Ms. McGown.
They charm little children and poets alike,
They’re nature’s own postcards on joy’s little bike.
A moment with them and your worries take flight,
Unless you’re poor Paul—who sneezes all night.
See, Paul has this thing—it’s a tragic, sad tale—
Where flowers cause chaos from nostril to nail.
One sniff of a daisy, one whiff of a rose,
And his face starts exploding from eyeballs to nose.
So yellow flowers, though lovely and true,
Can’t share their sunshine with every last crew.
They’re joy for the masses, a sight so divine,
Just don’t bring them near Paul... unless you hate his spine.
