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the trees are frothed with flowers -
sweet-smelling soap bubbles
snowing down over half-greened lawns.
begin again the new life,
tender young leaves spiralling
and everything is new
but still the same spring story
told in a rush
of birdsong-sun-green joy.
if life were a story I would sing it to you
in wordless rhythms of cycles and wonder,
dancing barefoot with
the awakening trees.
Instead I walk on hardened
paths of regimented concrete logic,
under signs that say:
'no shoes, no service,'
beside the whoosh of cars driving by in a river of metal.
Hold my hand,
I'll take you away to where the dragons live.
sweet-smelling soap bubbles
snowing down over half-greened lawns.
begin again the new life,
tender young leaves spiralling
and everything is new
but still the same spring story
told in a rush
of birdsong-sun-green joy.
if life were a story I would sing it to you
in wordless rhythms of cycles and wonder,
dancing barefoot with
the awakening trees.
Instead I walk on hardened
paths of regimented concrete logic,
under signs that say:
'no shoes, no service,'
beside the whoosh of cars driving by in a river of metal.
Hold my hand,
I'll take you away to where the dragons live.
