The Spring is gone. I have not seen <br />Its fairies tripping on the Block, <br />Arcadians in grey and green, <br />The happy flapper in a frock <br />So dainty that the breezes fret <br />It like the smoke of cigarette. <br /> <br />I’ve seen no pixies of the pave <br />The season deck with flower and plume; <br />No slim, entrancing elves that wave <br />Their gossamers like wattle bloom; <br />But only staid, trim maids arrayed <br />In Autumn costumes tailor-made. <br /> <br />Not like a garden poppy strewn <br />And scented as an Eden fair <br />Has been the Block at afternoon. <br />So Spring came not to me this year. <br />Curse on the greedy profiteer <br />Who made the dear ones all too dear!<br /><br />Edward George Dyson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/why-spring-fell-flat/
