Paris in March

Dedicated to Louise Margaret Jackson


The bells toll in the high sun
As gentle waters of the Seine
Bathe the old cathedral of Notre Dame.
The large Rose window invites us in,
Amongst candlelight and incense;
And whispers of old, wandering souls.

The cold stonewalls are lined by statues
Of Saints, Green Men and ivy.
Promises and prayers, as pilgrims to and fro,
In traditions of new and old,
In this eternal play of light and shadow.

Then a sudden turn
And the purple light blinds us.
There is so much love in the detail,
It just takes our breath away.
And in that moment, I want to hold your hand.

We walk the spiral stairs
To the dizzy heights in the crisp air,
Overlooking the ancient city,
Guarded by giant gargoyles and lost chimeras.
There is a serene calmness, which guides us
As there is not much need for words,
Such is the comfort in knowing
It will stand against the test of times,
Always elegant and strong, above the skyline.

And so in the lazy afternoon
We find ourselves in its shade
In the dusty courtyard, amongst lovers
And passers by, dreaming of a different life
And what it would be like; and you my love,
The keeper of Notre Dame.


These are languid times
And we do not want to leave.
So we follow the bridge to a nearby café,
Sitting by the window as the white wine is poured,
And the palate meets the light taste of soft bread and fromage.

Night is falling with such ease,
There are brandy glasses and red velvet chairs,
Verdi’s Opera and Champagne coupes
And the opening night of Luisa Miller.

Such is the lyrical chant of voices past
As I sit, in rapture, by your side.
Stealing a look, unseen, as I watch you
Beautiful and poised in the Paris night.

Street lamps and headlights
Colour the city in this March night.
It still feels cold, and yet I am lost in your gaze
As it meets me halfway, smiling.
The piercing eyes, I am learning to navigate.

Like everything in this city
You seem to know the way.
Leading through the maps and long corridors
Of the Metro and my adoring heart.
I am vulnerable and whole,
And yet caught in your embrace.
And though I have sailed past many ports
In yours I will stay, my anchor, my city of lights.


Janete Cabral Copyright 2003-2011