Wear a lure fantastical,

Farthingales of Spring,

Till the out-worn city hearts

Dance for you and sing.

Lime us with grotesque desires,

Warm with green and gold;

Apathetic we have grown,

Tired and hard and old.

Draw us gently to your truth,

Calm our hopes and fears;

Till at last the grass blades speak

To attentive ears.