Above the smog I stand for joyous breadth,
As swirling breezes grasp the air to stir
Against my flesh a mellow molten bliss
That catches brusk September leaf and twig.
I step once up again step I on toward
Life's oaken grove, that shades the shore of pond,
Which greets with lovely Sprite a dance while she
May wait away these balmy days all free.
Though soon I must my way come down from haze,
To find that Sprite and oaks for me long razed.