I still remember that first sunrise That you shot at me like a deadly glance. Oh, you are vanilla sweet and wise, I listen to your history and dance. Now you wait for me With your premature spring; I look up and see - Green is a good thing Because you smell of color green: Of some forbidden grass and wet leaves, Steamy passions and spleen Of thunderstorms that the sky heaves. Mister Twain was more than right, You are a southern belle or beau Wrapped in blossoms, a fine sight. Wonder why my answer is a "no".