In Central Park the cherries start to bloom
This sun-drenched day when birds have left their notes
For us, intruders in their sanctuary moats,
Unseen but heard where shaded branches loom.
I walk a path that’s filled with cut-wood chips,
Fine grass and leaves enveloping the way,
That creep on past the gates to where they play
Among the wind as smiles on lovely lips.
Within the trees there is a shelter deep
Where all the park unfolds its jagged edge
And in that spot I rest in mid-day sleep
Before returning through a hanging hedge.
Beside a pond I stop to read and sing,
A child runs by, his kite pulled by a string.