' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' 'Ahh Hh...C'Est La Vie...Ce N'Est Pas? (Being A Birthday Poem For Miss Ruthie) Poem by Dónall Dempsey

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.