Written by John Holding

Rise in silence, quiet now, out out

Take to the pavement, though

You may be footsore it matters nought

For Sunrise wearies night’s melancholy 

into the shadows creeping behind

As we walk the light streaked alley

Pause, no! in the scent of the Boulangerie,

Calling rest here, at the mouth,

Stride into the colour of Passage Molière

Scurry  past the red of Cafe De La Pouse

under darkened lamps one to three

Seeking where intellect will find its rouse

There on shelf forty six of the Librarie,

Sit the words encased in musty leather

That talk of a life lost in diablerie

This tome a means to thwart 

A delay to your early run to tomb.

Text © John Holding

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