I wondered only about the cloud
As that is how I spend my day
A digital furrow thoroughly ploughed,
Provided clients deign to pay;
I reflect of a sudden if this is all:
A glowing screen before off-white wall

Turning tired eyes from the code
Down from my eyrie what should I spy
Out the window, across the road
Among the gravestones, arrayed close by
I glimpse bright yellow among grey green
An imprecise and muddled colour scheme.

From their mute trumpet flowers - a tune
Above the traffic seems to play
A siren summons, to stop work at noon
But some of us have bills to pay
And can not, will not, quit our posts
To lark about with those golden hosts

When I descend to take the rubbish out
And trudge through all the outdoor chores
Am I jealous to see them dance about   
Bus-blown, garish, kerbside whores? 
A call comes and I return to stress and bills
Back up to work, and looking down on daffodils