Toujours, nous aurons Paris

Of course, Parisians will always tell you
Paris isn’t what it used to be
It's not the same
Not like when they were young
With Sandrine, it was the Sixties
Demos, riots, sit ins, love ins
Hippies, la nouvelle vague
You get the picture

With nana, it was further back
Paris before la guerre
les Deux magots, cafe flore
Sartre and de Beauvoir
Edith Piaf and Aznavour
Then came the occupation
And the whole world changed
Let alone Paris

My own Parisian memories?
A suburban childhood
Glimpsed through train windows
Frenetic arrival at Gare St Lazare
Crowded platforms, sleek new trains
Shopping at Printemps and Prisunic
Lunch in St Germain, and later
Long walks in Les Jardins Luxembourg

Above all, Paris belongs to Sandrine
To the places we used to go
Haute cuisine, haute couture
Mostly I remember small things
Like her lustrous hair
The sweet scent of her perfume
The immaculate cut of her dress
Her unhurried air, her style

The market at Clignancourt
And the things she’d buy me
Sunglasses, a colourful blouse
My first pair of stilettos
Reading Paris Match in the salon
Listening to the gossip
Of the ladies of Paris
Smiling to myself

Picnics in Luxembourg
Ice cream by the Seine
Cakes from the chocolatier
Croissants from la gare
Sandrine’s hand in mine
Never wanting to let go
Just wanting to grow up
And be exactly like her

No, Paris isn’t what it was
It'll never be the same
And now there are others
Making their own memories
They'll grow older
And when they look back
Maybe they too
Will always have Paris?