Sitting on a park bench
watching the world come
back to life. The stench
of city smells from
every which way meet
my nose.
I hear the sound of feet
crunching the dying snow
underneath.
The sun peeks out
from the low moving clouds.
The fun of summer faded long ago,
but baby blossoms promise
what I already know.
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 11:41 PM UTC
Sitting on a park bench
watching the world come
back to life. The stench
of city smells from
every which way meet
my nose.
I hear the sound of feet
crunching the dying snow
underneath.
The sun peeks out
from the low moving clouds.
The fun of summer faded long ago,
but baby blossoms promise
what I already know.