Banish the blues with a red touch,
blend them purple for tomorrow,
boys and clinker don’t mean too much
warm debris for the wheelbarrow.
Pigeons perch on the old scarecrow,
who imagines lilacs in spring,
they watch the boy make a furrow
and prepare for life on the wing.
Solitary fish all faced the sun,
I saw them each and every one,
the early morning frost was gone
and the warmth at the top of the pond
brought them up for me to see,
sunbathing carp, one two three,
starting their springtime tan,
sun worshipping, chillin’.