Planted by a Soldiers hand,
She slept, while Europe blazed.
Bore silence through winters cull,
Captured in darkness, there to laze.
Amongst the ruins of Avignon.
Freed by the spring,
Guarded by the sun.
Born in thunders drench
A seedling of hope for Avignon
Gave witness to unjust death,
Found her strength in summer’s breath.
Drank the blood of murders shame,
Grew fertile, her innocence to bear
Seduced by the bees of Avignon
Took confession, the old to cleanse,
Listened to love,
Their dreams to mend.
Sheltered the lost, from Natures eye.
Watched children grow,
And the old men die,
For she is the spirit of Avignon
Planted by a soldiers hand
Her flowers of peace endure
This soul of Avignon,
Her message the symbol of life.
Anonymous to a stranger’s eye,
A cathedral of hope, a grannies smile.
Avignon’s tree of home.
A tree that set us free,
That tree that saved my Avignon.
© Copyright 2017 steven cooke. All rights reserved.
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