A Poem From Paris

 I may have posted this at an earlier time.

I can't remember.

I just did remember it, though, and wanted to share.

How vapid.

I really wanted to see if anybody would read it.

Which is pretty futile, because the feedback on my blog posts is a dead letter office.

No reply.

 Ever.

But here is a poem that came to me when I woke up one morning in Paris a while back.

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Soon June”

I thought I heard someone say.

“Soon June”

There, I heard it yet again.

“Soon June”

I wonder what it might mean?

“Soon June”

Means it that June is almost here?

Surely it can’t be that simple.

Means it that the end is near?

Surely it can’t be that grim.

But:

If it were the end, 

The end of what?

How easy!

If it were the end 

It would be the click of the clock;

The set of the chestnuts;

The reddening of the berries;

The chirp of the robins;

The chirp of the merles.

There, I heard it.

The clock just clicked..

 “Soon June”