(Versailles, France)
When the long drawn notes of a bird’s song
Echoes through the trees,
It brings to remembrance the songs
Of the blackbirds at Petit Trianon:
Chiming, reverberating, floating down
From the tops of the tall cedars
As from an invisible, celestial choir.
Nor can I forget the ages-old wisteria
Clambering over gray palace walls,
Nor the gamut of color in the azaleas there—
Pink, orange, cerise, yellow—
In pale green foliage.