I can see the flowers every day
Binded to a red “STOP ALL WAY”
Seems to be a unforgettable price to pay
But by a wrong jogger off the walkway
Some cry for the bedtime story
Some lose their amatory
Some dig the albums for memory
Yet, some claim innocense as victory
Few prunes the trees in December
But we all need visuals to remember
While 35 is a default number
Only slow traffic would encumber
The dusts, the stones, and the rocks
The grass, the shrubs, and the hemlocks
The flies, the parrots, and the peacocks
The xings, the streets, and the blocks
People barely count to three not to say seven
For all STOPs besides Allen
Rules that remembered and then forgortten
Rules that blur lower world and heaven