SERMON ON THE MOUTH

 

My ear is a garden I oft must weed out,
Lest all sorts of bract and wort blossom and sprout,
Purple-hued prose cultivates moss among us,
Encouraging lobes and canals to grow fungus.
It spreads creeping roots that encircle the brain,
Squeezing out any good thoughts that remain...
So please, when you're speaking, try not to be coarse,
You'll just generate spiny thistles and gorse.
Prune out your lingo, use less fertilizer,
When seeding my ears with your muck, be a miser.
Vile language won't prove you're more ripe and mature
And you might attract maggots with all that manure.