If ever I should go again to Paris,
I hope that I can be there in the spring.
They say April is the time of year
When love pervades the atmosphere.
Couples stroll along the Seine,
Arm in arm or hand in hand,
They browse quaint bookstalls on the quay
And share a kiss along the way.
Perhaps they'll find a quiet nook
Where they can sit, sip wine, and look
Into each other's eyes and keep the world at bay.
For Paris captures in its spell
Those young messieurs and mesdemoiselles
Who find romance a many-splendored thing.
Where love's hopes and dreams survive and thrive,
Old hearts may even come alive
In that magic place that's Paris in the spring.
Pulling joyfully their curtains wide
Allowing love's rays her, beauty's light
New Radicals, you've got the music in you
Seraphims escorting serendipity's twenty-first
Century his jinni appears gayety her garland pastel
Mesdemoiselles their colours rich as oils this Helen of Troy
Menage menagerie; resilient, these spirits the child, whom believes
Wearing flash floods but hey we do it in style: jill, an infant's Messianic retreat.
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