The smoke from Notre Dame
Has crossed the ocean and
Settles on the pre-Easter snow
Of the front lawn.
It lies heavy.
It is full of Jesus (of course)
And the history of France
And the citizens of Paris
And the ash of ancient trees.
It smolders still.
It has the art of the ages
And the civilization of humanity
And the aura of the eons
And shards of blackened stained glass.
They admit no light.
The smoke from Notre Dame
Stirs in the wind
Gathers again into a shroud
Brushes tintinnabulation before it
And travels into history.
(image)https://www.telegraph.co.uk/content/dam/news/2019/04/15/TELEMMGLPICT000194356479-xlarge_trans_NvBQzQNjv4BqwwijwH92GxEXbhOiUOGwc7yif0N6J3waMRLrQv6l0bI.jpeg
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