The sun, a glass marble shines on innocense. <br />I lie in short grass, looking into the future. <br /> <br />The moon- a shiny biscut covers the clouds. <br />And midnight bleeds into childhood dreams.. <br /> <br />The watch hands turn into a foreign country. <br />The war passed, I standown in rags. <br /> <br />Looking thru the back glass of a Rambler Station Wagon. <br />Childhood dreams escape as the dust. <br />I smell Evening in Paris. <br /> <br />The wrinkles in skin and shirt pressed by time. <br />I lie in short grass, looking into the past.<br /><br />Joe Howell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/evening-in-paris/
