Jonquils --------- I smelled her as she crossed my path. The traces of a scented bath still lingered in her unseen hair like jonquils in the April air. Her skin was fresh and flushed with heat, but whether she was pale as wheat or shadow dark I'll never know. She hurried where she had to go before I had a chance to look, to find what subway line she took. Will jonquils bring her back to me, her half remembered melody? Karen Tellefsen kat2@mindspring.com