Attired in springtime apparel
Rastar, confused and constrained,
In his waking nightmare struts through
A season of mellowed fruitlessness.
Robin sporting his prim waistcoat,
Though perplexed, signals red to cry
In confused ferocity,
“Stop! Enter not this territory.”
The tiny crocus with innocent modesty,
Dances with chill breezes, and blooms
Alongside nature’s seasonal error,
The inconsequential Nerine.
Rastar can, but, stand aside and groan,
For, too early, has Dylan’s green fuse blown.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment