Far beneath the city lies a maze of catacombs,
where the wind courses round whispering over bones,
where mossy stacks of skulls that stare without sight
are revealed to wandering souls in the flickering light.
From somewhere overhead rumble Metro trains,
pushing musty air down their tunneled lanes.
The passengers are dressed in their winter blacks,
swaying silently in unison over staccato tracks.
Then they bustle up the stairs or take the escalators,
past Ukrainian klezmers and the Gypsy beggars,
but the crowd bursts out to an unaccustomed sight –
the overcast has given way, the sky is blue and bright!
Red and yellow flowers signal Springtime has arrived;
people doff their dreary coats – and Paris comes alive!
To Paris, with love – E.S.Cuny