I dream of Paris
Drunk in colours of Pink,
And warm, soft hues
Of gold and blue.

The leaves, they fall.
They waltz and dance
among feathers white,
In a wind, their guide.

Then a pitter, then a patter
Then a lightning trembling Paris' every café.
The leaves, the feathers -
They dance no more
But float in waters that they have always known.

Morning comes as night is forgot -
And crooners croon
And painters paint.
And the glamour of the Tour Eiffel is captured through.

As cafés brew
And Tourists walk
Over stories told,
Over stories untold
And the struggles of the night before
makes todays skies so clear and oh so blue.