Saints on Sunday and a familiar buzz.
Seeing familiar faces saying, “Where Y’at Cuz?
Walking in the Quarter on a warm, spring day.
The bands and the music and all the jazz that they play.
Mr. Bingle, Canal Street, Christmas in the Oaks.
Lunch and Dinner at Rocky’s with all the fine folks.
Audubon Zoo in the middle of the fall.
Getting a burger and a beer at the Port of Call.
New Orleans is the place where I feel at home.
A place where my spirit will always rest and roam.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem