You were maiden spring and thing.
You sang song and on white-wing.
You sang the way to the Registrar.
The glasses slid on his greasy nose .

The sky was romantic bride-white
On a crisp morning of bird chirps.
You woke up to the new white day
And the clouds went fluffy white.

And then gray humdrum started
A night of eye whites would fade
While sparrows flitted in gutters.
Behind clothesline lay humdrum.

Now it’s humdrum of dark gowns
And of red tape , glasses on noses.
It is the humdrum of a stale song.
It is a humdrum of sliding glasses.


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