Shattered Routine

At the stroke of one,

Park bench and sun,

Zorbing together,

With other musicians.

I’d dislike the change,

It must rearrange.

In the cool blue,

You and I will play,

Until we prune up,

And plump away.

I love your chatter,

I love your hair.

I will shed a tear,

Even when you’re not in despair.