Wisps of easy jazz
float like ghosts through quiet lanes,
sneaking into souls.

Evening creeps closer:
Skeleton trees creak under
lead blanket of cloud.

Coaxed up by weak sun,
snowdrops bow as if in prayer
for Spring to arrive.

Undefined by time
hopes and memories merge, old dreams
start to soar again.

Despite biting winds
colours refuse to fade, leaves
hang on like milk teeth.
