See the woman sitting on the bench beside the tree.
Every day she sits there with her flask and cigarette.
The smoke, it hangs in ribbons round her face - she stares past me.
Eyes focused on who knows what? Perhaps long lost regret.

Or maybe draw your eyes away and find the paper boy.
Strolling past the iron bars that keep the park in check.
As the wind caresses branches which sway and play so coy
and holds the gull that soars above the clouds - barely a speck.

Cast your gaze upon the roses blooming oh so fine.
Morning dew clings tightly to the petals scarlet red.
Whilst, high above, a mighty, overshadowing, green pine
drops deadly needles - partner to the thorns - in Beauty's bed.

Oh, sweet distractions! How you have moved me far from my course.
As birds do chatter and a breeze dances swiftly round me,
I feel such bitterness in beauty! Oh, remorse!
I must sweep idleness aside: I bid farewell to thee.