The tree
is teaching me

the beauty
of its blossom

that it is not enough
to notice or like it

but that I must
love it.

The tree is preaching
to the converted

but I listen politely

as both branch and blossom
write their signature

upon this
Parisian evening.

I sit and sit
absinthe

watching myslef
in the hall of mirrors

that this cafe
provides

as if all the people
that I've been

have come
to celebrate

this birthday.

I watch past selves
observe this self

I've come
to be

and hope
that they are happy

with
me.

Dónall Dempsey

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ahh-hh-c-est-la-vie-ce-n-est-pas-being-a-birthday-poem-for-miss-ruthie/