(Part 8 of the Europe Collection. A monologue to the streets of Caen, Normandy, from that time I got hopelessly lost and frustrated.)

Once upon a time

A young girl got lost in your streets.

You knew she didn’t belong there.

‘Que faites-vous ici, fille?’

(or so a street could say, if it could talk.)

But a street cannot talk

If it could, maybe it would tell the girl which way to go.

(Or not.)


What do you care?

Tons of people may get lost in your streets every day.

And it makes little difference

To a city that’s seen the rise

(and the fall)

of a great duke

Revolutions, uprisings

War and devastation

Been there, done that.

You hold churches, shops, schools and gardens

The single bone of a mighty ruler

And a huge sprawling castle

The passage of time seems like an endless parade

Which you watch, dormant, silent

So what difference

Does one lost, foreign girl make?


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