We strolled in a starry night through the boulevards, avenues, and rues of Paris,
the land of the iron Eiffel Tower, Dior, of the Croissant & Champagne, of the célèbre Monalisa,
and the scorched Notre Dame;
And the city still seemed to be ablaze in a festival of white, golden, orange and yellow bulbs,
illuminating the treasures of the Louvre, and Paris’ only River Seine,
ever so a City of Art & Lights;
Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité, then cries Paris several times,
but no one seems to take heed,
as her cries get lost in a hodgepodge of sirens, French cabarets, a Babel of languages, protests and in its busy streets;
And we just walked on holding each others’ hands, not knowing or caring where we went,
As long as we were strolling through the renowned City of Love.