Hope Doesn't Spring Eternal

I like the flavor of a little rottenness,

It's strange that rot is sweet.

If age is such an evil,

Shouldn’t it be sour?

I taste the sweetness,

Rotting wood smells divine.

The sky when it rains

Gives me the feeling

That sunshine ought to provide.

There is no way to feel the rot

Until I see it,

Growing on my arm.

Then it’s too late

It smells too sweet

I’m like a bee,

Swarming to honey.

Honey is old too,

Pollen gone through the wringer.

Nature isn’t natural

Until I know it rots.

Hope doesn’t spring eternal,

Unless I know it could end.