Paris
Descending in the clouds
Landing in a fog
A city the color of ash
Gloomy in gray
History in a haze
One monument after another
Blending in a mixer seemingly mush
The music in the Metro
Wafting off the walls like fresh baked bread
Mesmerizing me with it sure beauty
The notes echoing off the floor and people
A memory worth a million words
Standing there listening
As the crowds rolled by
The sounds of the cello etched in my soul
Complex yet so simple
Imperceptive and divine
The music was perfection
A love life long
The voice bringing me out rapture
We are late for the Mona Lisa
I wanted to stay but needed to go
A date with a lady
Hundreds of years gone
Ascending into the day
A light refreshingly bright
The gloom disappeared
A city in flowers
Spring arrived
A famed painting small
The colors adding to the dull
Music equally brilliant
Maybe a bagger with a cello
Or a genus practicing perfection
Paris was no longer mush
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