A line of pastel
Along a winding river
Snaking its way past grand castles
That rise from emerald hills
And tower over neat rows,
Winding laneways and cobblestone paths.
Ancient buildings in the golden light
Of a fair morning dawning.
That famed bridge that captured
The hearts and minds of all who
Set foot here, glowing in the sun,
its holy statues looking out
Towards the bend in the river
Where swans line up in perfect form
And boats drift lazily about.
Pink and blue and pastel green,
Old steeples and a thousand churches
Frame the waterway.
Across from that, an open square
Is bordered by clock towers and
Showcasing statues in the expanse
Where vendors are stirring for another day
Of cloudless skies and quiet breeze.
Prague, a city suspended in time
With decadent castles still in use
And monasteries house forgotten books
In lavish rooms of gilded gold
And secret doorways, hidden rooms
That only hint at secrets.
Feel your shoes tap on cobblestone,
Watch trams sketch out their daily route,
Hear angelic voices in cathedrals
Or walk amongst stalls of
Toys and souvenirs in markets,
A city of sights, yet silent.