Why Spring Fell Flat

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