A Hierarchy of Bums

Okay, so you're a bum.
But you still have choices.
The thing I remember most about Paris
was the music on the subways.
There was a whole symphony of them
each working seperate subway trains
making me feel like a million bucks
so I might fork over one or two.

I was introduced to Vivaldi, Chopin, and Bach.
I didn't know it then,
but Paris is where I fell in love
with classical music.

I remember this one old mangy bum
sitting on the steps of Sacre Coeur
overlooking Montmartre
playing his harp.
I don't think he even noticed
the tobacco stains on his eyelids,
or the lovers gathered round listening, falling in love
with Dvorak's Humoresque No 1,
or the stench of cheese rising from his
tattered shoes,
but I do think he could describe exactly
the smell of spring
creeping over Paris.