by Nora Jay
Gather your rosebuds, wily May:
Old Time is still a-speeding,
And, less than two full months away,
A deadline’s not receding.
That glorious lamp of heaven, The Sun,
Directs you down to hunker;
Back, though, on earth, the deal is done:
You won’t get any Juncker.
Then be not coy, make jamboree
Before our final outing!
Think: all that rosebud potpourri,
May soon be Brussels sprouting.