Long ago once upon a time
when I was twenty-five
I fell in love with France
besotted first with Paris
daily greeted by Mayor Voltaire
tending his garden patch on Rue de Seine
sly gatekeeper to glittering sights
strolling streets, evocative rooftops, catacomb mazes
amalgamated with dazzling surprises
of brilliant cuisine, glorious art, joie de vivre
lured easily into the countryside
for extended treasure hunt
to Chartres’ asymmetric spires
fragments of some celestial place
surreal, fairytale turrets
strung along the River Loire
palaces filled with royal intrigue
Chambord, Amboise, nearby Chenonceau
west to Brittany’s stunning cliffs
beyond fields of hidden menhirs
past relaxing sands at St. Malo
dotted with scarlet bathing tents
rockbound Mont Saint-Michel
mystical, seaside mirage
angular pinnacle with sacred space
reached through gauntlet of relic dealers
blood-washed, Normandy beaches
achingly memorialized
by endless acres of skeletal crosses
whispering ‘please never again’
another war glorified on Bayeux wall
a needlework, medieval saga
when William conquered Saxon Harold
winning for France Britannia’s lands
finale to our French adventure
on limestone hills above the Seine
chased after dark by chivalrous ghosts
through Chateau Gaillard's stony ruins
thrice more I returned to Gaul
an eager pilgrim into the past
through historic turns and twists
among art-filled caves and Roman ways
from Joan of Arc to Charles DeGaulle
seizing ancestral relations
with this antique homeland
where I know millennia ago
some Norman or Gallic others
must have begotten me.
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