Classic Poem

For all the Morning Glory's airs,
She has the instincts of a Weed;
To-day I caught her unawares
Kissing a Squash—I did indeed

“But don't repeat it,” said the Rose,
Then told the Pink, who told the Bee,
Who said, “I'll see to it, it goes
No father.” Then he told it me.

Said I, “It is a shame, O Bee!
To circulate such arrant Bosh;
And if it's true—it's plain to see—
You're only jealous of the Squash.”