It was spring then and my niece was a student in Paris.
My sister and I had flown from Boston to visit.
Outside of an ancient chateau in Provence
My niece and I together climbed
The old ascending stone steps.
Suddenly I saw a dove alighting up above us.
The clear sky shined like powdery pastel bluebells.
In my wondrous heart a joyful song arose as if
Showered with pretty sunshiny dew.
On a drive around a magical corner
All at once before us - my sister, my niece and I,
Was the village of Gordes in the sun -
Built into a hillside from honey white colored stones
With the help of the Lord.
In the church stood a statue of
Dear Saint Joan D'Arc
Where it quietly had reigned with heaven
The high ceiling at the altar of majestic blue, was
Still beckoning, to kneel under.
I was awestruck by the place each planned, cool stone had
Along the cobbled village walkways
And the thought of France in all her glory
And flowering Paris today.
The freedom the countryside was holding onto
Beautifully far and wide
Left a lasting impression to see.
Provence arises and touches the celestial bright blue.
The magnificent city of lights to the north
Is as always for sparkling hearts so true.
The years come and go
Along curving, narrow pathways.
We can love what we hold so dear
And cherish the golden seeds we've learned to grow.
Gayle Sweeney's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (To Provence by Gayle Sweeney )
(January 30, 1935 – September 14, 1984)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
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(6 August 1809 – 6 October 1892)
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(16 January 1874 - 11 September 1958)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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