ode to lamoux

The ghosts of the dead cannot touch the ground

Not when they enter the gates of Lamoux

They smile and rise with feelings of glee

For the dead have no home like this ancient city

The living they walk, they stomp, dance and stumble

They sing, they talk, they murmur and mumble

Through evening and night when the curtains are drawn

Anything is possible ‘til day is reborn

The Rosemary grows in the cracks of the streets

The essence of summer’s sin atop dusty old sheets

The city lies on a harbour of waves

Watched by a lighthouse, a beacon that saves

The books of Hearth-ache, love and murder foul-

All were written on the streets of Lamoux



~ by yesknow on October 7, 2010.

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