That heady rush of spring perfume
Which leaves me walking in a dream
As I stroll down this avenue
To think what’s past ‘neath other beams
This floral scent which mind tranports
To visions of an earlier day
And younger thoughts which, unaware,
Would waste and while the time away
The rain that kicks the asphalt up
And harkens to a childhood time
When I would see my grandmother
Bent in a garden, lost to rime
And finally I am back to me
Yet still I wander in a haze
To reflect on unappreciation
In those gilded, far-off days
Hermit Thrush 