On this day in 1976, I was in Paris with a foreign study group. It's the feast of Saint Lawrence. I went to Mass at the Basilica of Sacre Coeur. Heard the responsorial psalm "Je t'aime qui donne avec joie." I love those who give with joy. I wrote this poem:
Sacre Coeur, Paris
In the Metro,
I could not feel the rain.
Emerging as from sleep
at the other end of
where the rain just stopped,
you were waiting,
waiting for me
on top of the highest hill.
Heart pounding speed
into my legs,
I climbed a million steps
to meet you.
Tired hitchhikers
sang beside your door.
Rain wet city
glistened at sunset,
stretched before your face.
You called stories out of our hands,
gifts out of our eyes.
You never closed for the night.
The stars rose down
on your round white crown
like halo,
like
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