Walking through my very own spring meadow,
More buds than blades,
Blossom richer than ’76.
A verdant softness wraps me up with a smile,
As I bounce barefoot.
A colourful lightness breezes by,
Chased by screaming cymbals, and thunderous drum.
You’re not welcome.
Widely forecast, a tumult ever so easy to avoid.
But still, I wear no raincoat.