It was Friday night in Paris
‘t was not the same city as before
After the brutal massacre of innocence
The Moulin rouge – and her crisscross arms
Were in a total blackout
With no can-can dancers
To tap their high heels on the stage floor
A few kilometer away the Notre Dame stood
Echoing the prayers of the faithful
Beneath domes of French-Gothic elegance
And by the side of these mourning monuments
One could catch on the waters of the Seine
A glimpse of a rippling reflection
Of a croissant-shaped moon
Sweetening an otherwise dark and bitter night
With a dough-full of light


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s