Once winter dissipates into the ocean,
And spring’s benevolence swaddles New England,
I am lured to Boston Commons.
There, while reclining on a grassy incline,
I like to watch the pretty people pass me by.

Women,
With flowing hair and designer jeans,
Gracefully amble through the park.
While men,
Decked out in pompadours and plaid shorts,
Smile and give them the eyes.

On days like these, love’s glamour is on full display.
Two pretty people identify each other,  
Wink, nod, and then exchange telephone numbers.  
Within minutes,they become entangled in each other’s arms,
While seemingly a fanciful occurrence for some,
Relationships present themselves to pretty people with ease.

As I immerse myself in Boston’s spring animation,
Waiting impatiently for my love’s nativity,
I cannot help but envy the blessed few.
Sometimes I resent them,
But on days like today,
I respect them.
What it must feel like to have the world in your hands,
And to be among perpetual love.
What it must feel like to be truly alive.

In the midst of a waning Thursday afternoon,
I observed the outdoors from my cozy nook.
Birds serenaded each other from the treetops,
Flapping theirs wings,
Playing in the cordial breeze.
A handsome red robin took center stage,
Usurping the cynosure of the garden.
Gracefully, he sauntered to the edge of an evergreen limb,
Released an emphatic chirp, and slid into the sky,
Becoming airborne.
Free.

Meanwhile, I gazed at the clouds lethargically.
I was anchored to the land,
Indentured to books and worksheets.
I wished that I too could flap my wings,
Be hoisted into the air by the breeze,
And venture into the clouds.
But this I did not endeavor.

Unknowingly, I contracted my horizons,
Preoccupied by the useless facts and figures,
I was oblivious to the world outside of my abode.
While others lived their lives and spread their wings,
I fell behind.
They found joy in clouds, while I,
A flightless emu,
Buried my head in the sand.