You are a sneaky bastard with your camouflage of Spring.
Allowing dormant life to peak above for a look around.
Hastened, not this time of year, pretending is your being.
Inviting unsuspecting flowers to blossom fair and sound.
And yet, your unsuspecting coil waits of practiced eons to be sprung.
Beelzebub could take lessons from your stealthy-licking tongue.
Caught in indecision, no, yours is a trap laid planned and true.
Consequence to all who are caught when you do what you do.
Tic-tic-tic Mother Nature thinks that she’s always in charge.
A snicker upon your countenance tells another story.
Centuries have taught you well of the art to be at large.
Whilst leaving vast destruction is your glory.
One last thrust your practiced blade begins its awful purpose.
Relishing in annihilation from the pent-up hell that usurps us.
And yet we still survive to fight and live another day.
Perhaps the trap laid oh so well was another’s who had his way.