Le Garçon Déçu

Through the parks where tanners scatter
The thought of winter, so far away
As to seem obscene

Over the bridges that intersect town
Timeless they stand, oblivious
To passing of feet

Past the tourists, who treasure maps
That call this very place
A dozen names

Seeing buses, cars, taxis crawl past
Ferrying passengers, disappointed
By slow progress

Finding spots, not yet devoured
By interests of commerce
Where idleness linger

We may lament how seasons change
But it's a matter of months
Before summer returns