Now that spring is greening and
The women, who walk in the park,
No longer freeze their fanny off
And young girls, with erect nipples
On virginal tits, dream of home and
Children, I still wear my skeptical
Winter woollies, cause I know that
Spring might regress and winter be
Back killing off any hope that love
Might come and strew roses on
The path of the bashful.

Yet, hope is here, yesterday I saw
Her, dressed in modest green,
Admire a yellow iron bed, in a shop
That sells dream of domestic bliss.
When she saw me, shyness tinted
Her face a delicate blush and for
A moment my heart hummed along
Forgotten song, but then my dubious
Mind asked: Are you sure that nature,
Painted her a rose, just for you?
And a cool wind blew…