Paris is the haute couture
Christian Dior
Sophisticated capital of the world

The holy grail of good marketing

My Paris is an impression

Just a little of “my Paris” is the Paris of book and film
A celluloid dream
Of romantic clichés

City of Light
Paris in the springtime
Paris in the Fall
Champs Elysee
Le Louvre
Elite fashion
Elite scents
A plastic package

But I love another Paris
A “touchable” Paris
The Paris of Edith Piaf

Edith Piaf was known as Little Sparrow
She was a singer
She sang of the pain in Paris

Piaf - just a tiny lady in black could hold the world in her hand
“Bravo pour le clown” and
“L’accordeoniste” were songs of and for the “little people” of Paris
For those who hungered
For those who struggled
In the shadows of Paris.
Her voice was their music.

Of course
She could sing passionately of love
There was “Milord” and
“La Vie en Rose” and
“Hymne a L’Amour”
But always
There seemed to be those secrets sighs
Of wishing
Of hoping
Of secret fears

All was not sweet in Paris

Perhaps her triumph
Must be
“Non, Je ne regrette rien”
Paris is not all light and springtime
It is just another city
Piaf sang for the dark pain
In any city
Maybe MY city

And then offered
The gift of priceless strength

“No, I regret nothing”