Avignon
The gentle breeze whispers through the streets,
Cooling the city of 6 millennias.
Such an irony, as the calm river flows,
For this is the "Town of the Violent Wind".
Lush greens reflected on the river's mirror,
Spires stand tall in the clear blue sky.
Battlements of old, keeping sentinel guard,
Breathtaking fortresses, dominate the skyline.
Magnificent and imposing,
The Saint Bénézet spans.
Cutting into the Rhône,
Waters swirl around 4 arches.
But a former glory it has known,
When once it was 22 arches long.
Louis VII laid siege in 1226,
His rage he laid on Saint Bénézet.
70 years, the popes held court,
The rise of Palais des Papes in the name of God.
A period of golden bloom,
Followed by a period of dark dark doom.
Many thousand lost their lives,
The Plague, it swept, without mercy.
And for the next 300 years,
It shall reside, taking humans at it's whim.
When they finally subsided it,
A calm prevails, and fortunes grow.
The Nazis came in 1942,
Freedom came but 2 years after.
This town of old, of great culture,
It lives today, an important centre.
Standing on the banks of the River Rhône,
Across Saint Bénézet, the eye shall behold.
Town of the Violent Wind,
It changed hands, the Romans, the Goths,
It belonged to a great many kingdoms,
Burgundy, Arles, kingdom of Forcalquier.
The arts, and science, they flourish here,
In this town, of saffron bricks and ancient stones.
The crossroads of Provence and Languedoc, of Italy and Spain,
Flourish it shall, millennias to come.