the blossom has gone like an old song
leaving only fragments in the borders
around the bandstand - passing clouds
wind across the sky - as the band
strikes up 'singing in the rain' - on this
last day of may - feet tap in time -
as what remains of the pink blossom
is lifted by the gusting swirling breeze
and almost too soon the gutsy tuba winds down -
pages turn and those gathered on benches
patter applause for the breaking blue sky
The Blue Book
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