Spill a Cloud of Cream
This is the flower side of town.
Spring pastels to tease your eyes,
turn freezing blasts to prosper green.
We sprout from winter’s frozen ground,
into season’s route, and as months fly by
you’ll live with me, spring serene.
Stay, and I’ll read you widow’s poems.
We’ll linger long in a phantom dream,
where yes, stars fall in blueing skies,
and wild swans take freedom’s roam.
We’ll spill a cloud of cream.