Ode to a pile of goddamn oak tree fuzzies

O, mass of powdery tassels

O, mass that can kiss my assels

Was it not just days ago

Those trees stopped dumping leaves below?

And now we must contend with you

Thou itchy wad of arboreal gradue

Mark, one can only go so far

As you befoul and stain my car

But beseechings of, “Stop it, please!”

Fail to quell your reign of sneeze

Just be warned foul organic pile

Your end is target of my wiles

And the cure for that of which I tire?