All The Women In The Place de la Abbesses, Paris, March 27th, 2011.

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All The Women In The Place de la Abbesses, Paris, March 27th, 2011. 

a song.

 

 

 

It’s as if they all decided,

It’s like they all agreed,

And every one of them was beautiful

Indeed.

 

It’s as if they all conspired,

And picked this time and place,

To synchronize for a moment of perfect grace.

 

It wasn’t sunny,

It wasn’t cloudy,

It was something in between,

And every one of them

Was beautiful

Indeed.

 

And all their boots and skirts and pants and hats,

Their blouses and purses and this and thats,

All of them, all of them, perfectly matched.

And every one of them

Was beautiful

Indeed.

 

And the one with the rust colored hair

And the one in the wheel chair

And the one hunched over her phone

And the one standing alone

And that whole giggling girly bunch

And the one eating her sad lunch

And the one with too much make up on

And the one with not enough

And the one with all her shopping bags and stuff

And every one of them

Was beautiful

Indeed.

 

The old, the grey, the tall, the tan,

The one leaning perfectly against the taxi stand,

It was as if they’d all conspired and impossibly agreed

That every one of them

Was beautiful

Indeed.

 

It wasn’t sunny,

It wasn’t cloudy,

It was something in between.

And every one of them,

Every single one of them,

Each and every one of them,

Was beautiful

 

Indeed.

 

 

 

 

 

Paris, Spring, 2011

 

 

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