Soft winds knead the grass,
Like bakers kneading dough,
blowing gently alas,
Hugging the grass low. Leaves rustling in the wind,
In the Spring of life,
The freshness of youth is new.
Love never becomes trite.
Too much excitement to be blue. In the Summer of life,
I'm in an L.A. frame of mind.
Visit Exposition Park's garden of flowers.
Take a ride on the metro-line,
To Simon Rodia's Watts Towers. Can't beat the weather, except for smog.