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"French Walk"



slowly, hand in hand, 
we walked through Dinan primroses, 
and he told me he loved rain. 
'je suis enchantee,' i thought, 
'i am enchanted.' 

drawing closer 
to the fieldstone rectory, 
close enough to feel the cool sanctity 
of its holy walls, 
we rested in its shaded garden, 
where geraniums spiced the earth. 
'i love the flowers here,' he said, 
'et je t'aime, aussi.' 

plum hollyhocks 
stood firmly, flanking bristol blue shutters. 
their scent, i knew, 
would forever remind me of Him. 
on a path toward the old stone well, 
where poppies swayed and fennel blew, 
he took my hand, and we both fell. 
there was simply nothing more to do. 

(c)2001 Cynthia D'Adamo



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