Her Saturday Ritual Poem by Arno Le Roux

Stretched out skies from the fairest east to the west,
Out over the old city the sun calls and end to rest,
Over the morning traffic looking down hung the bakers best,
A handful of people their appreciation the daily test,

Grand architecture looking down on the narrow steeple,
Piano inside rarely but touched by qualified people,
She looks up again onto the skyline over the steeple,
Enjoyed her own few moments unlike down stairs people,

Her Saturday's a ritual surrounded by music not so new,
Morning broke announcing for the privileged few,
Massage by hands that the Gods blessed with a curfew,
While she's transported to a waiting world anew,

Looking a last time over and out to the red skyline,
Out of this world music lifting her soul sublime,
Over the city her soul is carried as slow as the time,
The conductor of old intended closer gge chime,

Tower below seeing her dimple and smile,
In this world alone she travelled a second a mile,
Paris her door and her destination immobile,
Classical the music her velvet gown in a pile,

Music is what it always was to the fairer body,
Climaxing the tempo of the orchestra's melody,
At the moment the conductor kept her soul custody,
The moment she wished would last until somebody,

Same city different time would call her name,
'Time to come back, you have been away too long dear dame'

Arno Le Roux 2014