|Along the Seine (Camp 2004)|
If I were in Paris
once again, I would stroll
along the Seine near Notre Dame
and watch the tourists queue up
to ride the boats past the Pont Neuf,
where stone heads grace
that oldest surviving bridge.
I would follow the scent of fresh croissants,
yes, French bread,
only sold within an hour of baking,
and sit outside one of many small cafes
to sip bitter espresso and talk with you
of travels past, books unread,
kings dethroned, the Bayeaux tapestry,
a trip by train to the country,
and loves lost.
I'm looking through photos of that month we spent in Paris and attempting to write a daily poem as part of October's OctPoWriMo and Ultimate Blog Challenge. So much was beautiful of this time in the early spring, even the unexpected music of singers from Tibet, street performers very much in the tradition of Paris.
|Mussicians from Tibet in Paris (Camp 2004)|