Paris
In winter, nothing gives.
The tree holds tightly to
its fistful of sky
while the wind arranges
and rearranges
some leaves
at the entrance to the Tuileries,
always seeking
a different disorder.
First published in NOON: Journal of the Short Poem, Issue 14, August 2019
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
