The Catacombs of Paris

THE CATACOMBS OF PARIS Their skeletoned remains, in disarray, are numbered more than any count can say and from their numbers, Paris grew to be what she has grown into, each stone's been cut and raised from where it lay. Down in the dark, beneath each cobblestone there lays a death that no one should have known; and their remains are dried, to last; to be reminders of the past, lest we forget what's raised the cornerstone. And what has made all Paris so discrete is every stone they raised up to the street; and every bone that's stripped and bare by time that's left them laying there in their sarcophagus beneath our feet. © ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the doylestown poet