Their heads together fused, professors scold at me:
He’s capable – in certain things – but not too serious.
But I – wherever I may look, it’s springs I see.
In every pocket I keep springs in endless series.
You go out – all around boils life’s spring flood;
Hearts threatening to overflow all dams,
Through every body pumping crazy blood;
No wish in me to age and rot like some Monsieurs and some Mesdames.
Who turn away to dodge the sun’s too torried heat
So that their blooming glasses shouldn’t melt,
And if a dewdrop wets their hair-do, beat retreat
To haircutters, with razors and tight belts.
But I, even unintentionally, for a joke,
If I open my mouth or pocket just a bit,
Springs – such a noisy, squeaking, pushing folk,
Green, wriggling, jump under the fence from it.
There’s nothing anyone can do about it, friends.
It’s like a chronic illness that you catch –
You can’t get rid of it, and there’s an end –
Like fingers getting squeezed by a tight latch.
(Kazys Binkis)
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Based on Topics: Friendship Poems, Spring Poems, Jokes & Humor PoemsBased on Keywords: pumping, chronic, wets, razors, monsieurs