frame up

the hidden flowers do not give forth a smell
but that means nothing as they're out of season
behind there's a small swamp and shallow well
they're there i do believe for a good reason
the stand of trees softens the evening sun
but this is noontime and there is no shade
we've come here at the trot on urgent run
our joy's unbounded has not yet time to fade
the concrete's coloured with the marks of rain
but nothing signifies even the shallow marks
we're promised now swift ending to this pain
at last we can now say enthusiasm sparks
the signal the message the overwhelming trope
is that this week we've finally some hope