Pink carnations bloom in golden wash,
The day so fresh and sweet,
Entranced by oldest motions posh,
The clocks strike old and neat,
To witness all the riddled time,
Spent in such strained thought,
On valid ways and thoughtful crime,
Through rigour and its sort.

The tumble of butterflies,
Ever to soothe a hasted mind,
When all the noise is borne under the sun,
In their wild frantic dance of beauty,
Of colour and haphazard dives.

A journey superposed with steps,
Interweaving 'till it's full and brimming,
Intertwined in conversation or a gentle look,
To green, bustle and horizoned seas,
Out to the olden arches by the streets,
Beyond the humming glow of signs,
That greet the bold faced halls beside,
Then into friends and through the curtain,
Of chattered games and rippled laughter,
Then through these fiery coals by open water,
Into the flowing verbal steps to pleasant places,
As eve begins to sear the sky the steps submerge,
Into the lapping tide and take a turn to deeper blue.
Now hurried to the bustle and the arches,
Interposing with a quickened sight,
The journey home encased in verbal steps,
Until the silence reigns conferred by night.

Grassy beds,
Lie strewn in yesterday's dream,
But today spring overturns air,
And falls firmer beneath the slope of my back.