|
    
I Could
Fly
I drempt when I was little I could fly By
thundering down the sidewalk Flapping hard Until the air beneath
me Scuttled by And I was half a mile Above our yard.I
couldn't see the future Through the trees Or know the other
dreams That would come true: Pink Elephants in Paris What a
tease -- Yet, here we are -- Voila! Merci
Beaucoup!
|
|
Getting To
There
Going from here and
Getting to
there --
We're all of us going
And
getting somewhere
We're all of us
travelers
With stories to share
While
we're going from here
And getting to
there.
|
|
In the ParkThere
are pigeons In the park And people In the park And
people Feeding pigeons In the park. There are children In
the park And parents In the park And pigeons Who are
parents In the
park.
|
|
Sour GrapesSour
grapes? Ils sont tres mavais. And very bad To eat They
say: Ils sont tres mavais a
manger.
|
|
What's Your Favorite
Word?What's your favorite word In French? Qui? Moi?
Quelqefois. Sometimes It's my favorite word. Other
times I like Pourquois.Why do you
like Pourquois? I don't know, Je ne sais
pas.
|
|
It's NightIt's night in
France And the stars are out And no little children Run
about But in America Far away It's bright and noisy -- A
busy day.
|
|
|
A Bowl of Hot
ChocolateA bowl of hot chocolate For dipping my bread And
croissants, more bread With jam. We must be in Paris Eating a
breakfast that's tres Parisienne.
|
|
In quaint
cafesIn little chairs Customers sit Like teddy bears All
in rows All side by side, Watching the people Passing by. I
take a picture of them Then I scratch my head And wonder
why. |
|
So Many ThingsSo many things We've yet to
say Decisions hard to make -- Rebecca's famous French
dessert Marie's "Let them eat cake!"Getting caught Out in the
rain And jugglers In the square. Sunday morning At Notre
Dame And all that Goes on there. Sandwiches packed Full of
fries And Lisa's Dr. Pepper Bread and Cheese At Erzi's house
-- More bread and cheese For supper. Tapestries of
unicorns Sculptures by Picasso August Rodin And Sacre
Coeur On the hill At nightfall. A novel read By
Hemingway A birthday celebration -- Who knows Where things will
lead When we give in To
inspiration?
|
    back to top
|
|