In Paris Poem by Rani Turton

Roofs silhouetted by a reddish moon
Late night revellers walk down far below;
Women, high heels clacking on pavements
Walk, a whizz of perfume as they pass swiftly by.

Just an instant out of life: a vision
From a lonely perspective. In Paris
The cafés have closed for the day, but the bistros
Remain open, and even at dawn that onion soup
For those who do not sleep
For those who cannot sleep
For those who wake early
And then night fades into day.

Avenue Parmentier and it's windows open
I hear the soft chords of snazzy guitar play
You know, some chords in minors can bring
The tears to your eyes. Some fingers
Can pluck the emotion from your heart.

The river seems calm. The lampposts
Flare bright. The stone walls and stone bridges
Have seen other solitary walkers
Silently pace the night. The stone benches
On the Pont Neuf have watched for so long
The rain, the night, the poets, the song.