The Park

‘When will I be free from this stuff To kiss your suave skin And to feel the high winds pretty rough From a gale from your deep green?’ It is the park beside the hospital Bill is speaking to Has undergone a surgery cervical From his bed the green square is a marvelous view A big marigold hugs a voluptuous Zenia bunch Under the blue light and in green breeze A rare orgasmic avalanche And the Beech and Larch engaged in a squeeze ‘I wish I could be with you O my happy children there’ The moment a whistle loudly blew Bill almost jumped in the air The cute nurse smiled a little And said: It’s a good balm sir For the aching souls in riddle Look at the lavenders calling there Ah, how in my youthful days I Would visit daily the neighborhood park Upon the green ground we would lie And wait for the bushes in dewy dark Bill’s eyes met the tinted fountain There at the distant center After sundown it’s a night queen Beside it a small mountain The soaring green spirits of trees The music of the whistling birds The clouds above in shaping spree Just speechless leaves it all of us Parks are our wonderful friends The poetry of park never ends ___________________________________ February 17, 2016