With the Gem of Ammara on his finger Spike strode confidently through the park intent on a kill, the heat of the sunshine warming his ever cold heart. Passing under a tree Spike cocked his head as he noticed a bird singing. As he stopped to listen, a poem forming in his head, "Oh Cecily, how your voice chimes like birdsong…" Spike snapped himself back to reality shaking such fanciful thoughts from his mind. Despite telling himself firmly, "No time for poetry, there's a slayer to kill," he sat on the grass giving in to temptation and the poet within.