A Jackson Square Morning — Photo-Artistry by kenne
The fog begins to lift
cobblestones still wet
from a passing shower —
the poet is sighing.
Cathedral bells ring
pigeons flying off
leaving their home —
the poet is sighing.
I can lose myself
in the French Quarter
in its endless embrace —
the poet is sighing.
Deep shadows in
alleys behind iron gates
guarding tropical courtyards —
the poet is sighing.
A lone musician
plays a jazz tune
not seen, but heard —
the poet is sighing.
Artists make their way
down to the square where
they hang their painting —
the poet is signing.
Morning life in the square
repeats again and again
the movement of generations —
the poet is signing.
A child of the mist
catches my attention
in my camera’s eye —
the poet is signing.
We bookmark each moment
looking at you again,
Renaissance and me —
the poet is signing.
— kenne
That’s beautiful Kenne.