Woke up this morning,

headed out for a stroll.

Looked around me, I saw

nothing but this concrete world.

Not a blissful green in sight.

Where have all the blossoms gone?

Where are all the cheeps and cuckoos?

The horizon is blue among hills of gray,

With concrete paved ashpalt rugs.

What's a writer to write,

In this miserable new world,

so dull and so blindingly bright.

I try to think a thought,

a blissful one in this restless drought.

Ponder as i may,

inspired i am not.

But then you came along.