Sweet breezes of flower-filled air

caress the curls at the back of my neck.

I gaze at blessed people who bath in sun’s stare,

 as if reclining on a beach or a lake house deck.

An unfortunate spider hops sun spots on my arm,

and a train whistle sounds far away.

Both curiously romantic in their ways of alarm,

I flick one and bid the other to stay.

 I see the first bee of long sought-after spring.

The gumball tree sprouts its barefoot oppressors.

A class gathers outside and sits in a ring,

their thoughts sun-swept away from professors.

As if all in one thought they converge

on grass that is greenest and fair.

Surprisingly quiet on God’s wakening earth,

inhaling sweet breezes of flower-filled air.