A mild May morning, yet I still seem down, <br />Dulled by the weary world with all its woes <br />Since through the shimmering haze, this tawdry town <br />Pulls pleasure from my soul, so gladness goes <br />And is replaced by lethargy, that longs <br />To drive me back to bed, depressed and blue <br />While Hackney's blackbirds stir me with their songs <br />To sing that spring is making all things new <br />And vernal flowers press me to set my foot <br />Upon a more creative course, the blight <br />Of boredom seems to slam my dreams' door shut <br />And closes windows open to life's light <br />But surely sunshine's better far than rain <br />That drowns delight and stultifies my brain.<br /><br />C Richard Miles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spring-sonnet-3/
