Beacon Hill Park,Your dormancy once eluded the visitor,
Warm Spring days with the dappled pastel colours,
The cascade of petals,
Only your blossoms remain in a lost space,
Each gust of the westerly winds,
Showered and praised the lovers of nature and life,
A sweet accent and fragrance for that certain memory,
The need to feed,
Some wait to be fed,
That beautiful swan,
The feathers white and bold,
Somehow the pintails, mallards and squirrels know,
Everyone is alive and come to absorb the details of another spring,
Rebirth for the coming of artistic things,
Summer is waiting impatiently for it's searing expanse,
Save the shortened spring days,
And saddening decay of age,
They've begun to go to seed,
But other summer flowering entities take the stage,
Appearing for their awakening show,
And our pleasures of that cherished day,
Our play is sure to go.
No comments:
Post a Comment