The tree
is teaching me
the beauty
of its blossom
that it is not enough
to notice or like it
but that I must
love it.
The tree is preaching
to the converted
but I listen politely
as both branch and blossom
write their signature
upon this
Parisian evening.
I sit and sit
absinthe
watching myslef
in the hall of mirrors
that this cafe
provides
as if all the people
that I've been
have come
to celebrate
this birthday.
I watch past selves
observe this self
I've come
to be
and hope
that they are happy
with
me.
Parisian evening...the beauty of a blossoming tree...sitting at the cafe...there are all the necessary components for romantic...one just tunes to sit and let oneself to be taught by the trees...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
who could not be happy with a gentle soul like yours Donall......and if they're not happy then shame on them Ruthie