Happy with this, the contented life.
Parisian cafés on La Sienne,
pâtisseries and crêperies on every corner.
But I admit I miss the sound
of birds and bees.
The dirty water lapping bridges
and forcing itself up through the drains
is no substitute for the rocky edges of the Bow
and the meandering lines of the Rockies.
While I may enjoy the good life,
and lazy Sundays in the park,
I am no more an urban girl
than I am a pigeon,
greeting the morning with
the flapping of feathers
and a mournful coo.