Paris is still there clutching her river.
Scudding zeppelins of vapor drifting above;
Glaring blue shields of summer sky
Relentlessly press down as she covers her eyes
With her lamp-posted bridges.
Autumn days tumble past the streetside cafes
Whispering treasonous thoughts to
Waiters impatiently counting their drinks tonight
In tips still clutched by the pockets
of the afternoon sippers.
What blow is this in the steel of December
Sweeping trenchcoated figures
Down rain-glistened streets,
While the flags of the Palais are snapping
Like the wings of the pigeons fleeing the square
While the city of Paris clutches her river.
We huddled there, when love was
Less like a question unasked
Than a bridge in the water
Spanning the distance
Between two wary hearts.