(Written a few years ago, on a visit to Paris)

Stood upon a peice of holy isle
all around the Seine wells,
Gazing at a work of stone art
and home to some famous bells

Confesions, coronations
and royal weddings,
Public executions
and lies in speeches spreading

Flashes of history standing pondering
but the thing I was really wondering,
Is, did Esmeralda ever ring Quasimodos bell,
That would be one to tell

Walking through the grandest set of doors
into a deceitful view,
Chess board tile litterd the floors
as the old stood still new

A twenty first century pagan
come to give thanks
to the holy trinity,
The mother, Father, and Holy Spirit
Drinking the blood of the grape
Eating the flesh of the bread,
Thanking the earth for the meal provided,
The sun for warmth and light divided,
The water for remembering us when we’ve departed

Awomen.


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