In the quiet lanes where whispers tread,
The echoes of old souls softly spread,
Beneath the arch of ancient trees,
Their stories linger on the breeze.

The cobblestones remember well,
The tales of love and sorrow to tell,
In the Parisian night, where dreams had slept,
A gentle sigh, where secrets are kept.

Through misty veils of time’s embrace,
A ballet of shadows finds its place,
In the catacombs where silence reigns,
A ghostly waltz in hidden lanes.

Let not the fear of night consume,
The beauty found in such a tomb,
For in the dance of life and breath,
Lies the artful grace of French death.