Oh my poet-heart, is there still time for Paris
Where the sweet wind wandering goes?
Round each corner; the trees in airy flight
Nights bathed in amber light.
Low at my feet the winding sidewalks behold
Valley and town drenched, entranced in deep repose.
Has there ever existed such a more beautiful place…
None with more appeal; even when it rains.
But I know how softly on the music plays
Where mosses creep; where our love is not far.
A place where we are free
Flinging forth our memories with ease
Traveling to Paris in the car…
With my poet heart in the breeze.