Sitting under the maple trees
In the gardens of the Tuileries,
A bird shat on my hand.
And when I did not move,
Again on my jacket. In Paris,
even the birds do not suffer fools gladly.
how sad.. 🙂
Enter your email address and receive new poems by email.
Join 515 other subscribers
Wind From the Sea
Walking in the Rain With Robert Frost
Storm Over Houston