I like the way that shrubs and flowers

lean against my classroom windows

as if wanting to enroll. What would the azalea

say when asked about the Forest of Arden?

And would the red, red rose respond

to my mistress' eyes as something,

after all, like the sun? What's not to like

in these my vernal, budding pupils

so firmly rooted in this soil, so curiously

intertwined? My vegetable love should grow

with each new bell of earnest fragrance,

fair and passing fair, each one.

As Eve once more eats of that fruit,

I hear their universal groan.

Paul Willis