In Which I Rejoice At Breathing Hard (And Tell You All To Get Your Minds Out Of The Gutter Right Now)

It's spring at last and time to ride my bike,
Deep Blue, to work whene'er I safely may.
The exercise is good but what I like
Is what I smell; a moving sweet bouquet.
It starts with lilacs in my own back yard,
In Cahill Park, and scattered all along
My route. Then others join, but they are hard
For me to name. A cherry? That seems wrong;
This is Wyoming. Dogwood? Maybe so.
The blooms are red and white and have a scent
That makes me glad to huff and puff e'n though
It's extra work to use my nose. Content
I am to pedal on, and deeply to inhale.
And love the Greenway's deeply scented trail.

BONUS SONNET: I Knew Silent Springsteen Would Be Weird But I Didn't Know How Weird

Bruce Springsteen with the sound off is no fun -
(Though he is not my fav'rite singer, no)
Alas the workplace rulebook's will was done,
All through the Super Bowl and halftime show.
A Broncos fan am I, if fan at all.
This season, though, they lost me early on.
Once that occurs, I ignore the "football"
Or "handegg" as the wags among us yawn.
So this year's Big Burrito Bowl was not
Of much concern to me, so I just did
My usual job, in Sunday's usual spot.
But then, and quite perchance, I flipped my lid.
A foolish notion came to me to watch
A play or so, then there was BRUUUUUCE's crotch.