It was spring then and my niece was a student in Paris. <br />My sister and I had flown from Boston to visit. <br />Outside of an ancient chateau in Provence <br />My niece and I together climbed <br />The old ascending stone steps. <br />Suddenly I saw a dove alighting up above us. <br />The clear sky shined like powdery pastel bluebells. <br />In my wondrous heart a joyful song arose as if <br />Showered with pretty sunshiny dew. <br /> <br />On a drive around a magical corner <br />All at once before us - my sister, my niece and I, <br />Was the village of Gordes in the sun - <br />Built into a hillside from honey white colored stones <br />With the help of the Lord. <br />In the church stood a statue of <br />Dear Saint Joan D'Arc <br />Where it quietly had reigned with heaven <br />For years. <br />The high ceiling at the altar of majestic blue, was <br />Still beckoning, to kneel under. <br /> <br />I was awestruck by the place each planned, cool stone had <br />Along the cobbled village walkways <br />And the thought of France in all her glory <br />And flowering Paris today. <br />The freedom the countryside was holding onto <br />Beautifully far and wide <br />Left a lasting impression to see. <br /> <br />Provence arises and touches the celestial bright blue. <br />The magnificent city of lights to the north <br />Is as always for sparkling hearts so true. <br />The years come and go <br />Along curving, narrow pathways. <br />We can love what we hold so dear <br />And cherish the golden seeds we've learned to grow.<br /><br />Gayle Sweeney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-provence-2/
