Paris Heron Poem by C Richard Miles

Paris Heron



Autumn in Paris may not be romantic
Like roaming the city on soft, green, spring days
But one misty morning there, fortune fair granted
A moment of wonder, which left me amazed.

Fair flowers were fading that crisp, frosty morning
As idly I roamed round the Jardin des Plantes
When, all of a sudden, without any warning,
A grey apparition close captured my glance.

There, at the edge of a wild water-garden,
A tall, silver heron stood perched with intent
Inspecting the tiddlers, with hunger so ardent
That thoughts of my presence had bypassed his sense.

Amongst the tall rushes he posed, still and silent,
Whilst looking through lilies with yellowing leaves.
I crept up with caution right up to his islet,
Where I expected him swiftly to flee.

But such was the state of his mind, his intention
To feast on fine fare from the waters beneath
That still he ignored me, in rapt inattention
That I edged right next to him, quite within reach.

That such a wild creature allowed such communion
Delighted my senses and captured my breath.
This tame, feathered statue created a union
Of human with nature, a bond strong as death.

And so, eyes now opened, I glanced round the garden
Where autumnal hues shone with brighter allure
And drank in the red and the russets and marvelled
As leaves so luxuriant littered the floor.

Frost’s feathered fingers lent glittering appearance
To these but soon vanished as sun warmed the lawns
But placed such a sheen on that simple experience
That still I remember that cold, autumn morn.

That angel-winged heron, with golden-edged greenery
Which winter’s approach would soon dye into brown
Still rivals the best of Parisian fine scenery
That draws me again to the rest of that town.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success