Evening In Paris - Poem by Joe Howell
The sun, a glass marble shines on innocense.
I lie in short grass, looking into the future.
The moon- a shiny biscut covers the clouds.
And midnight bleeds into childhood dreams..
The watch hands turn into a foreign country.
The war passed, I standown in rags.
Looking thru the back glass of a Rambler Station Wagon.
Childhood dreams escape as the dust.
I smell Evening in Paris.
The wrinkles in skin and shirt pressed by time.
I lie in short grass, looking into the past.
Comments about Evening In Paris by Joe Howell
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- TelevisionRoald Dahl
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda