A Song for Paris



aboard the Bateaux Mouche
the cold and crisp air of Paris sang
hands folded inside knitted gloves
scarves like cupped hands around our necks

the warm taste of coffee from a 4 inch cup
held tight to last the 45 minute tour

we waltzed through the canal
the Eiffel loomed over
shadows of its height
all gray against the orange of fall

the ride was slow and every bridge
there greeted passerby
made the foreign visit home

Paris unveiled quiet dreams
all forgotten in the backseat of desire
stories whispering peace
anticipated the holiday of trees

we passed the bookshop
where books hid lives
and the clock ticked of time
the clock ticked of time

she waved goodbye
and her heart
gazed through her eyes
but her smile, her smile
a rosy colored bloom
against the autumn Paris sky


I write this in memory of Tita Lisa Caro.  One of the fellow pilgrims who travelled with us on Bus Number 5 during last year's  Europe tour.  She passed away this week and went home to be with the Father after winning her battle with breast cancer.

Comments

  1. This is really good. I like the line about books hiding lives. That's not something people often think about, but every book was written by a person, so by default a part of them is hidden inside. I've never thought of it like that before. Very well done.

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