The Bluebirds Of Paris Poem by Arthur H Rowley

I have read of bluebirds down in Paris from a poet
long since gone when I arrived
I wonder idly if the bluebirds waited there
for me to begin,
‘the tales I am to write are yours to keep'
I tell a man
rotund and twice my age at least
he asks me when I will write of the bluebirds
and I wonder
just for a moment
if artists never die
and if I am to meet the bird man in another life
how I will tell him of the words left in his wake
how his story is bulk with promises
although he kept few
and how I will tell him that all my stories
belong to him too