Down to the Pier
In spring the wind reaps clean the green racemes
And shakes a gossamer chrysalis to tremble, to dream
That the once green caterpillar worm wouldn’t die
But transform into beauty, grow wings and fly.
As orange blossom fragrance scents the air
The feeling comes, a remembrance, something there.
A taste, a time forgotten, so long ago
When you were young, and you longed to grow;
When the sap ran strong and before it peaked
You loved lip to lip, and cheek to cheek.
In pastel gardens of your youth
Yellow orange red rose was the truth.
You jumped out of bed, awakened with the sun,
You played all day, the whole day was fun.
At night you prayed and wished upon a star,
But now, back in time,
. . . In this springtime
You get a beer
Drive down on the pier
And sit in your car.