It was a moment carved in time
by the dilligent hands of fate
chip by chip, delicately sublime
engraved by memory's dictate.
It was Paris for us then
in the summer when mine eyes met thine
as we walk on hand in hand
by the bridges of the river Seine.
Upon the cobbled well-loved streets
we pound our footsteps on well-worn stones
as we lived for a while without surfeits
and all we have is this love to atone.
And there it was, the cafe still stands
of all that was, what we were once
a place to visit now and then
when it was Paris for us thence.
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