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Infinite Crises


  Wednesday, November 19, 2003
One with the wind where the flowers did bloom
    as the wicked white Willow plays jacks in her room.
The bright buxom Blueberry bush likes to lie
    though the thirty-three Thistles will never more cry.
And old ornery Orange-tree winks to his wife,
    the lovely lime Lilly soon giving new life.
So soon shall the Shrubs begin yet again
    to cram for their classes as hard as they can.
But giant grey Gum-tree has no more to learn
    for four thousand years knows this friend of old Fern.
All are arranged, all are prepared
    to try to pay tribute to the witness they bare.
Wicked white Willow is waiting to wed
    and bring Blueberry bliss in their marital bed.
Shrubs bare the blossoms with glee all the while,
    and wicked white Willow now walks down the aisle.
Trees turn their trunks to see as she strides
    toward beautiful Blueberry, now brimming with pride.
Approach they, the altar, and all are aflutter
    as great Gum-tree greets them with old preacher's stutter.
Five pretty pale Plumbs have eyes filled with tears
    and many more sob as the marriage grows near.
Several are weeping now, wondering why
    those thirty-three Thistles, they all had to die.
"Why did death have to do all those dastardly deeds
    with aid of amor� and Blueberry's greed?"
Carnage and cutlery were callously carving
    just so Willow's sick passions would stay un-starving.
More than mere Thistles were mercilessly murdered,
    so many slaughtered for some social disorders.
Blueberry blindly butchered them all,
    so her lover's lust would never grow small.
"Why," watchers wonder, "must we find our doom
    in the hands of these heartless two brides sans a groom?"
Why, one might wonder, would they still wait
    for these two kissing killers to crush them with hate?
At home in their houses, their kindred are hostage,
    tied up with twine and threats of high wattage.
So sadly these simple folk scared shall just wait
    fearing these traitors may trigger that fate.
But, ah, the old Orange already has planned
    how he and his honey shall have their last stand.
He plans to explode with this pair of brides,
    detonating dynamite detained at his side.
Lovely lime Lilly knows little of this,
    when she asked him for answers, he allowed but a kiss.
He couldn't care less for the countless at home,
    Orange's offspring are in Lilly's womb.
The brides say their blessings with rings born of bone,
    as Orange explodes ending all, here and home.
Play jacks in her padded room, Willow will not,
    not another new nipper by Blueberry shot.
Shrubs shan't grow up, Lilly's little one lost,
    callous killers cut short, but oh what a cost.
Death has them all, turned to dust, met their doom,
    one with the wind where the flowers did bloom.
© 2007