So to retaliate, a fragrant see
perhaps would fascinate her majesty.
A woman’s mouth could serve, as a green park
and every single nerve, then be a spark.
So let us plant within, row after row
above her doublechin, a Mistletow.
And plant I did inside, green thumb in cheek
followed the garden guide, its doublespeak
Dutch tulips, pink and blue, a single rose
next day a runner grew, out through her nose.

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