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17 August 2015

Morning in Blois

I never claimed to be a poet, although sometimes it comes out of me anyway...

Morning in Blois
A sickle moon glows in a sunrise sky.
Pinks and blues promise another hot day.
Cool, shallow waters of the Loire
slide under ancient bridges,
as Ducks and Terns plunder its shoreline.
High in my fourth floor flat,
although called the third in France,
I watch
sparrows line antenna stands
reflected in my bedroom window
open to the warming breezes
which send lace curtains dancing shadows
over cracked plaster walls.
Pigeons coo atop the opposite roof peak
then flap, flap, flap to nearby perches
along the river and through the cobbled streets where I will follow soon.

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