Some days, pets,
you feel you owe it to the world
to poem without stopping (turning 'poem' into a verb) .
Such a feeling
makes you smile and laugh at the thought:
you wouldn't do multiple things,
like, the shopping wouldn't get bought.
To not be ostracized,
you'd probably hide a poem in prose, like
Daffodil Smell Test
As one of the few living in the fallout zone able to nose the scent of a daffodil (which gives its name, for its colour, to an artificial bread spread, but not, for its scent, to a perfume) , was it thought I would skew the results of the smell-test for the fumes of O-I (Owens-Illinois, Glass Manufacturers of don West Croy-) that spew into Adelaide hearts (rain into every lung and brain) ?
Was I included, however, just for effect?
My score wouldn't be, like the highest and lowest in diving isn't, I suspect.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem