When Shrinking violets'locusts and holocaust thereafter shall besiege this plow, And horror-dunghill entrapped in thy burrowing fields, Thy speculative's spineless embankment,so gauchi'd on its spindle,Will be a traduc'd spiral of perambulating tintinabulation spirit'd,Then being speculated where all thy puntings and sweapstakes lie,Where all the curios of thy slanging matches,To spin within thy own achilless-frosty trods,Were an odyssey of tearjerker and derail of sunny times,How much traduce poureth on thy beauty by time's nebula,if thou couldst refrain'this biles of unfair shrinking violets'cluster, Shall squemish my jingo frame and my nethermost machinegun nest, That dost guille nimbus for my blushing scorn,These frangibilies were to be odorous odyssey when thou art senile,gravely karma cringest,And seeth a slander of a haunting violet,where thou art far away from golden fleece,If thou couldst not sequestrate thyself from its happygolucky hangovers,barndoor hit afar stareth thee foul in the face.