La Recherche Poem by Robert Winthrop

Early morning, Paris, France,
My guests are still in bed.
I rise and dress and out the door
I go with panther tread.
The early rays of sunshine
Light the rue St. Honoré
While Arab sweepers' brooms of twigs
Brush last night's trash away.
The bells of ancient St. Eustache
Call worshipers to mass,
But they do not beguile me
Though I hear them as I pass.
The horsemeat vendors' carmine truck
Pulls in and blocks my way.
'Bonjour, m'sieur, ça va? ' they ask.
'Ça va bien, ' I say.
I leave the narrow sidewalk and
Dash down the winding street;
The darkened windows of the shops
Reflect my rushing feet.
The Louvre, I know, is up ahead,
The Comédie Francaise;
The Eiffel Tower is peeking through
The early morning haze.
I pass a sign that says 'Tabac';
Expresso fumes waft by,
But on I rush, one thought in mind
Benearh the Paris sky.
And then I see 'Patisserie';
It unfolds like a fan.
Eureka! I have found baguettes.
Voila! Pan-o-ray-zan!
(pain au raisin)