How often the single man mourns upon an empty park bench with a cold cup of coffee.
Hath he no crocus to warm his heart?
Instead, the school bus, dappled with grey storm droplets rushes by, forgetting his red stop.
Leaves and clouds and hearts echo the autumnal pulse.
Dead is reckoning to come out and play among the stillborn earth.
Lest this decomposition provide new blades of grass and songs of trees in later spring.
Art: Downtown by James Thomson