Queen’s Park

In Queen’s Park the lilacs sigh,
Their purple heads bow low to sky,
While ancient oaks stand guard, austere,
Whispering tales of yesteryear.

Children’s laughter rings like bells,
Across the grass where daffodils dwell,
Old couples stroll, hand‑in‑hand,
Recalling dreams of younger land.

A bandstand hums a brass refrain,
Notes drifting soft on summer rain,
Ice‑cream vans in stripes of red,
Their chimes a sweet, familiar thread.

The duck‑pond mirrors clouds above,
Where swans glide slow in quiet love,
And squirrels dart in amber light,
Through winding paths of day and night.

When twilight drapes its violet shawl,
Lamp‑posts flicker, answering the call
Of joggers, dreamers, solitary thought,
Finding peace where calm is sought.

Queen’s Park, a breath of living art,
Beats steady in the city’s heart—
A verdant haven, timeless, true,
Where every soul can find anew.