the magnificent maze of Pere Lachaise
searching for Jim Morrison's ghost.
Very few living souls are present,
an old woman wipes a tear
as I feel dizzy in the drizzle
strolling past sinister grey crypts
including one showing Fourier's face,
Oscar Wilde and many famous names
but a beggar and a king end the same.
Finally I reach Jim Morrison's plot
with his beautiful statue long gone.
Here a photograph was taken
reportedly of Jim's spirit,
arms outstretched like the Jesus
of Edith Piaf's last resting place.
I do not sense his presence
but Mr. Mojo Risin' plays in my mind
as I lay some red roses on the tomb,
a shooting star who left us far too soon.