The tree <br />is teaching me <br /> <br />the beauty <br />of its blossom <br /> <br />that it is not enough <br />to notice or like it <br /> <br />but that I must <br />love it. <br /> <br />The tree is preaching <br />to the converted <br /> <br />but I listen politely <br /> <br />as both branch and blossom <br />write their signature <br /> <br />upon this <br />Parisian evening. <br /> <br />I sit and sit <br />absinthe <br /> <br />watching myslef <br />in the hall of mirrors <br /> <br />that this cafe <br />provides <br /> <br />as if all the people <br />that I've been <br /> <br />have come <br />to celebrate <br /> <br />this birthday. <br /> <br />I watch past selves <br />observe this self <br /> <br />I've come <br />to be <br /> <br />and hope <br />that they are happy <br /> <br />with <br />me.<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ahh-hh-c-est-la-vie-ce-n-est-pas-being-a-birthday-poem-for-miss-ruthie/
