In the streets where history breathes,
Whispers of lives gently cease,
Shadows dance, a fleeting peace,
As French souls find their release.
Beneath the Eiffel’s iron gaze,
Memories drift in twilight’s haze,
Silent echoes of bygone days,
Mark the end of their earthly maze.
In cathedrals where prayers are said,
Candles flicker for the dead,
Ghostly whispers, softly spread,
Of French lives that have quietly fled.
On cobblestones where footsteps fade,
Lives once vibrant, now a shade,
In the heart of France, serenely laid,
The final whisper, gently made.