I cannot find the Spring

I cannot find the Spring, though I search among the stale, white halls,
and I feel it not in stony silence that answers me from bare, gray walls.
These do not seem the living greens my eyes would drink like cool spring water,
nor caress as the breeze that shivered leaves like whispered words from virgin lover.

The breathless blast of conditioned air and rigid back of office chair
languish beneath the sterile rays of pallid bulbs' fluorescent glare;
somehow unlike forgiving waves that beckoned me to pause and lay
beneath the yellow-scented jasmine and keen embrace of warm sun's ray.

I cannot find the Spring, and now I cannot quite recall
when Winter annulled the ease of Summer and revoked the ruddy leaves of Fall.
So I will press my search among the concrete walls and metal chairs
and shut my ears 'gainst silent cries that verdant Spring was never there.