The sun beams into my eyes, the sounds of clicking horses charge the streets.
I wrap my tiny cot up and slip my hair into a loose braid.
As i stand my gold anklets clatter.
My feet are met with a cold puddle of street water as i walk towards a pile of barrels in a nearby alley.
My rings clank together as i grip my bag and slip it over my shoulder.
My bracelets fall to my upper arm as i grip a stone and pull myself up onto the roof.
The sunlight is crisp.
A thin yellow light is gingerly sneaking over the top of Notre Dame.
A faint smell of bread is released into the morning air.
The bakers take such pride in their creations.
It is such an enchanting place Paris.
The city of dreams.
The city of food.
My stomach howls at the site of a baguette that has been carelessly dropped onto the sidewalk.
I check my bag for a few extra coins.
As usual there are none.
The day will be long, there is not a single cloud in the sky.
The streets begin to come alive.
Women and children crowd the town's square to buy the farmer's crops.
Men wave to their families to begin yet another day of ceaseless grinding.
**This poem will be turned into a short story... when I get around to it...**