Blossom.

Do you remember my little poetic nonsense about the snow? Well, I'm going to do one about the blossom now. It was a note on my phone that I'm typing up now. Please note that I was sitting at Beckenham Road tram stop, otherwise it might not make sense.

The sun hits the live rails like an eletric current and blinds me through my UV protective sunglasses and the blossom falls on the track like confetti, celebrating the return of Spring. I look up at the great never ending sky, fully lined by the soft white petals and the striking shattered glass of the shelter, I bet the yobs who roam the Beckenham area will never know the beauty of what they made on that drunken night.