When the roads rise with welcoming tides where the sailboats sing
with parking meters and electric heaters above the tenement trims
as red brick surrounds the houses and all the people descend
an early sun offers promise through the morning’s din
coming home to a brand new place where time has stood still
In a muffled land we can see the old folks walk and wonder about their lives as they look deep down into another glass withholding great surprise soon freezing pitch fists and thermos flasks push people to the brink illuminating their lives over the kitchen sink
Parisian Poetry 