4-10 Spring Makes A Mister Sneeze

Mister (Sexy Bull),
at the ready,
in the comedy of morning,
oh court the young Achilles,
sung too early in the opera,
of my pastoral short comings,
when priming the pump,
the fat lady entered and sang,
an arresting aida,
without a warning,
laugh in the comedy of the morning.

Mister Producer,
oh sweet, snow falling,
Mister Producer,
are the holidays here so soon?
care you not, for the tea of summer,
which brings the honey to the spoon?
Oh, Mister Producer,
Mister Producer,
the winter is so far away,
come, come, follow the words,
the woods, the paths, the words,
what mother doesn't know,
can't lead you astray,
Mister Producer, come I tease,
what do you say?

Mister Valentine.
tender your heart,
into the spring of song,
your words call to me,
the robins in concert,
men of the summer come long,
to listen, so sweet,
to the lullaby wind,
holding the note,
soft, a gentle kiss,
asleep in your arms,
only you, only you, only you,
Mr. Valentine,
only you and all your charms.

Mr. Snow.
oh silly, adorable, deplorable,
mister, never kissed her,
(well once), sigh and a mister,
your eyes of idleness, of want,
the dick of your desire,
flicking your casual lady fingers,
delicate as chopsticks linger,
dipping the boys in sauce,
flirting with words,
on your tongue,
the men of your mind dripping,
kind as always to the fur muscled brats,
which you place so carefully,
as appetizers, dessert first,
main course last.

Mister Bumblebee.
the trembling unicorn,
in your arms,
held fast to the slipping
grace of the day, the waves,
of the shore came tumbling down,
the tide, as friend, to carry you away,
but instead you saw, in the quiet
questioning of your eyes,
the tempest of the hurricane,
bent as the willow to the creek,
in the surge of the rise,
that which is effortless,
that which is wise,
the which is you, Mr. Bumblebee,
the unicorn with the lavender eyes.

Mister (Gypsy Lover),
a verse for you,
yeah you, the drama,
the intrigue, the familiar,
spun tale, the song,
you don't want me to sing,
your day spun out,
tired and sore,
off to bed with you,
without me to bring,
I sighed, and more,
already knowing,
there's a part of me,
that waited long, to see,
if you would come,
and stay the night,
all cuddled and cute,
all verse and song,
before you leave,
to watch the summer,
carry the spring, so blithely,
away from you and me.

Mister (Princess)
you woke and rang,
your words as kind,
and soft, as the song,
you sang, once,
when the night called,
the moon to chill,
to still, you remind me,
to care, to see, to thrill,
to sing, and at the end of
the day, to be, me,
there is more to see,
than today,
there is more today,
than I can see,
and there is you,
a voice of reason,
reminding me,
you are as beautiful,
as the moon is beautiful,
to me,

carry the night into my bed,
sleep soft, the misters of the day,
sleep soft, and then tomorrow,
and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
I will write a poem,
for you,
to sing awake the sun,
as if it were,
the poetry of my misters tomorrow,
come sing the heart of my song today.