Petit Dejeuner in  General   

I sing a song
of the croissant
and of the wily French
who trick themselves daily
back to the world
for its sweet ceremony.
Ah to be reeled
up into morning
on that crisp,
buttery
hook.

By Linda Pastan

Tell Your Friends About It | Print This Poem

Comments

You should be logged in to be able to leave comments

Other poems by Linda Pastan:

• A New Poet
• Emily Dickinson
• Home For Thanksgiving
• Jump Cabling
• Meditation By The Stove
• Pears
• Petit Dejeuner
• Prosody 101
• Shadblow
• Something About The Trees
• The Happiest Day
• The New Dog
• To A Daughter Leaving Home
• Vermilion
• What We Want
• Wind Chill