Paris Poem by Michael Walker

We see the city of lost love and light.
Her white streets seep beneath the white skies,
Where centuries of prayers to Christ take flight,
Heedless of their truths or of their lies.

Warm inns and warmer kitchens let us in,
Apart from Satan's music of the night,
Enticing lost souls of youth into sin,
A labyrinth enwreathed with the fog of fright.

Cathedral bells invite the glorious dawn
Through rose windows over the golden Seine,
While by the wings of angels we are drawn;
Saints' paintings and caffeine open a vein.

Here, saints lie in sleep incorruptible,
Statues of graces ineluctable.