No pockets for the posies, so basket teems with blooms,

Whose endophytes may allergy-bite—her head assumes.

Clara feels, though, that bouquets are worth every itch-rash—

Fleeting stings soothed by greater joy of living by pash.

So, rings round the grassy ground may leave her shoes astain,

But while green is no ease, up-steps remain her refrain. ; )