Oh to love the chilled touch of winter turned to spring.
Slush dusted slabs containing multitudes of grey.
Recollections of Summer, form mist brushed past ones lips
as the air idly dances, across another morning missed.

A faint whistle breaks through a preview of green,
and somewhere strangers don one final jacket.
Long-aching bones grow less brittle moment to moment,
and finally, friends one and all feel faintly more fantastic.