It’s not for the grave of Oscar Wilde we’ve come,
nor Chopin or Marcel Proust, though many do –
as if a photo of oneself against the tomb,
grinning, would give their works the honour due.
Turning our backs on this we have a view
right across Paris from up here on this ridge:
morning shines on the Seine and on the roofs
and life rushes on, just water under a bridge.
Enjoy more poetry by John Looker on his blog HERE
John has also recently published an excellent collection of poetry entitled: “The Human Hive” with Bennison Books