My nose-rings are for captives;
Dim, long-imprisoned spies,
Fingers denied the picking,
Impatient for a booger prize.
To such, if they should sneeze
At the flowers I adore,
I’ll grab their nostril pulls
And chain them to the floor.
—
The original, with analysis, can be found at The Prowling Bee, here.
Emily Dickinson's Trashcan 