There is a cigarette smoldering 
 amidst the early southern, Spring sun:
 firmly seized between these fingers 
 whose winter worries have,
seemingly, wept away.

Changing of seasons has begun unfolding
 and I still have yet to treat my lungs
to a vacation: from the smoke that lingers-
yes! they're crying for a bath:
obviously, ignored each day.

Fully knowing the winter worries 
are just stored away,
for a snowy day,
he attempts to enjoy
the grandeur of grass growing green. 

Skeptical, of course: awaiting flurries.
"Now, it'll be any day!"
    "Just you wait!"
I know the coldness will only,
my heat striken labor, come to destroy.

Oh, if only she were my Queen!
Then, things would be a dream!