Shayan Afzal

In Toronto’s clasp, where skies do oft appear,
The sun with gentle warmth doth rare engage,
Foregoing snow’s white blanket, crystal clear,
To grant us light, and winter’s chill assuage.

Bright citrus orbs in wooden crates are found,
Their dimpled skins with sunlight are imbued,
With prices in soft chalk above the ground,
In market’s air, their sweet zest is renewed.

The grey of steel and stone doth oft dominate,
Yet here, midst fruit, life’s colors boldly start,
A silent stand ‘gainst time’s cold, steely gait,
A vibrant patch, nature’s own work of art.

So in this urban play, let it be known,
Through simple gifts, life’s richer hues are shown.