Two bats flew in with calm, polite flair;
 I chased it mid-bed in dramatic despair.
 A butterfly who ate a flower, named Rose
 Cannibal brunch? That’s Nature, I suppose.
 The mozzies, meanwhile, you must beware…

The bee got drunk on cherry tree bliss,
 Like Brits in resorts, sunburnt and pissed.
 A weasel played jianzi under the crisp leaves,
 While ducks dodged menus,

and Autumn, Winter thieves.

 Nanjing’s wild, trust me on this.