Like sprinkling Fred
who waters the flowers outside her door
He's probably not well read
but has much fun from nine to four
And when he's in bed
she digs up dead flowers in a chore
a chore limitless, she can only ask for more

She thinks:
Two snow rabbits
burrowed deep within a snowbank
Call it a habbit
they sleep around cold like a riverbank
Ears, fur, noses small bits
their eyes are closed and they have nothing to thank

Outside the sun sets brilliantly
the city's pollution makes a fantastic prism
And she step by steps up the staircase
each wooden partition creaking in response
Fred lays sleeping, tucked away in dreams
and she pushes his bed off into a river
the black water carries him away, away
She is left on the sand, waving Fred away, away