Paris in Spring

The sun is hiding in her clouds, not yet sure if it’s time;

She’s taking her run in streets that are just awakening,

Both filled with peace, their mornings yet so still.

There are ones at the cusp of sleep in lands of unicorns, 

Dragons, thieves and kings. 

There are those who are waking because they cannot wait 

For the things the new dawn will bring.

She takes one stride and then another; she stops.

With certainty, she knows that spring has come;

The buds are not yet in bloom, 

Colours are not yet in the eye's gaze. 

Maybe the hours are not feeling 

Her beautiful rays of warmth and light; 

Maybe dreams are still being dreamt.

In her heart, spring has come early this year.

A full and three-quarter of a moon; 

Love hides under the veil; 

Three moons to the day of coffee and croissants on the Seine –

My heart's most beautiful place, where life finds its way. 

Three moons to the day she stood and watched the Seine, 

So filled with grace yet moving all the while,

And thought to let it all go, all of it.

The birth of one follows’ the death of some, she said 

And with so much beauty and quietness on this winter's day,

She let the ache that had held her captive for so long go. 

For she knew that as this river has flowed and stormed,

So too had her heart raged and crushed; 

To be brave in this city, still with winter rains and pretty dulls,

She too can be brave and let it go. 

New storms will come; this time not to crush, 

But to create beauty in all his might;

One and three-quarter moon to the day the wolf walked;

Strong and silent; he filled her with no chance; no choice;  Nowhere to run; grounded and centred, you are mine, 

And mine you will stay. Be mine now,

For let spring be early, my love.

She runs away no longer; 

For now she runs to her wolf.

He cautiously wakes, not afraid and unsure, 

But silent and observing; as spring falls on her stride.

Coffee is roasting, croissants are baking 

And spring is early. 

With the unsure sun that is rising in Paris in the middle of March, 

Sit and stay I will, and should I run,

It’s never away but alway too, my love.

Paris is still; my heart is awake.

Like the rays deciding on the heat of spring, 

And she sits still with coffee and croissants 

As spring arrives early; if for now, only in her heart.