Croissant crumbs over the zinc.
Turn the cup and pause. The stains in the saucer
Murmur in the morning. Take another sip.
Watch the women pass. Heels crack the pavement
Lightly. Parisian calves tempt the sun out
But it resists. Greyness remains with nothing
Of the fable of mist about it. Lines are
Less than elegant. Less than expected.
Turn the cup again. Wait for the kick
Wait and wait.
Richard Blanch
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/paris-in-the-spring/
