April in Paris
Nightfall, rain falling,
Soft along a Boulevard.
Catching a poets glasses,
As he wanders,
Hands in pockets,
Lost in thought.
Pausing to wipe the vision,
That raindrops leave on a lens.
Images of Monet gardens,
Magnificent in moonlight.
The distant sound of bells,
Catch his ear,
And a horse and carriage,
On cobbled stones.
The poet ponders,
On his muse,
And words written.
Couplets and stanzas,
Columns,
Words that stir the soul,
And cause,
The heart to beat faster.
Inspiration,
That puts pen to paper.
April in Paris,
Lost in thought.
Caught up in a dream,
Drifting through a reverie,
Searching for a theme.