I absolutely adore situational irony. Why not shove it into a sonnet!?
“She Smells the Phlowers”
(In the Style of a Shakespearean Sonnet)
Gazing long from down the garden pathway,
A young maiden could be seen dressed in pink.
She crouched to where the daffodils did lay,
to caress their petals and smell their stink.
How bonny she seemed and peaceful she was,
how quiet she was and softly she seemed.
Oh I wish I could appear as she does,
such is a wish that can only be dreamed.
I leap forth as my heart does from my chest;
a spring in my step as I step into spring.
From the pathway to where her knees do rest,
I meet the eyes of this pretty young thing.
She smiled, then she sneezed, and offered a grin…
then some green phlegm dribbled down from her chin.