Come Spring, blooms of the spores of my demise,
spreading pollen around Homewood that’s hell in disguise.
Ten milligrams of antihistamine, for my itchy nose and sneezing,
bleeding phelgm into my aveolies, that suffocate my lungs from breathing.
The tundras of Hopkins have melted,
and the plagues of nature rise,
A fate worse than boils are tiny locusts in my eyes.
Peeking with my fingers, between the blinds of a window.
I imagine lying down on the beach, and feeling the wind blow.
I dare to dream of snow, and the envy makes my sin grow,
As I do my homework for Computational Medicine,
taught by Professor Miller and Winslow.
When it rains, I raise my hands and in the Lord’s name I praise,
as God took a break and finally lifted the pollen haze
With the cleansing of Spring, there is temporarily enough peace
to ease the tension in me,
what’s between Palestine and Israel,
and maybe the rest of the Middle East.
To those who enjoy the nice weather, I meant not to offend,
but can you wake me up when this purgatory finally comes to an end?
Because Spring sucks.