A whispering breeze rolls through

a quiet neighbourhood.

A chord giggles from the rooftops

of a busy downtown.

All is gone...

All is vacant...

With nothing but a Blank canvas

left to paint.

And so, joy emerges

like the scent of a fresh jar of Nutella.

The sun shines on the shingles

of baby-blue buildings.

Those shadows:

one cane's length.

Jolly tunes that put

One Foot in front of the other.

The heat of exotic afghan desert 

kushes the spring gales.

All the while breakfast ham grilles

on a stove from Berlin.

Once a year we spring into Spring

and saddly as days go by, spring will have sprung.