It filters down the avenue
A song –
The high note in the perfume of the business district
The source, a woman foreign and unfamiliar in her surrounds
The rainbows of her garb
Illuminate the steel and glass
Reflect austere designs of finance
To nestle like a flower in a fallow field

Her gait is full of dance
As she strolls along
The fabric of her dress swirls, lightly caressing
The trousers and the shoes of those she passes
She smiles in greeting
A smile slightly mischievous
It beckons full of promise
As though there is a garden, not far off
Which only she is privy to

Some stare
Then retreat at once
To their bunkers of glass and comfort
Some smile and share
A brief visit to her garden
Only to return to the musings of their working day
Of those that smile
A very few, they follow
And as their steps they lighten
Their garden grows abundant
Their garments turn from black and grey
To the iridescence of a butterfly
And a song and a smile are passed on
Like nectar for the soul

It filters down the avenue
A song –
Not one song but many, as they follow close behind
The perfume of the tune, precedes their joyous steps
As they leave all their cares to others
Trapped in their glass and bunkers
Sifting through the pages
And emails of their working day
Gazing out the window
To marvel at the flowers in a fallow field

© Kacey Patrick (Sydney 16/7/07)/revised 2012