A poem

ODE TO MAO'S SPRING GARDEN

Whose yard this is I think I know.
She's acting in the village though;
She would not mind me stopping here
To watch her tulips bloom and grow.
That bushtit there must think it queer
That I should simply stand right here
Between 15th and her front door
This afternoon so bright and clear.

He gives his little beak a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sight's the sweep
Of buses, cars, and squeaky brake.

This garden's lovely green and lush
But duty calls, so on I rush,
And miles to go, so I must mush
And miles to go, so I must mush.

Poem written by my friend Pinky