Ze muze, she be capricious

It was very, very cold this morning when I walked down to the Embassy. There was a dead bird lying on the pavement, and I thought how awful the smell would be if it suddenly got warm. And thus 3 lines of poetry were born:

Down sweeps the heat
and the cadavers blossom
with life their death engendered.

Dunno why, but I quite like it.

*shakes head at self*