The sepulchre of the sentiment

That stands beside the Seine

The green seeds of the linden tree

That captivate your name

 

Away, be gone, that sentiment

In place, another, quite unknown

A surreptitious sentiment

One rushes to disown

 

You have no place standing there

Where Charlie reigned supreme

There’s no welcome mat at my door

So stay away from me

 

My river greets those of like-mind

With a smile and a cry

For granted, take not what we have

To you, a lullaby

 

The sepulchre of the sentiment

Reminds, of those who won’t grow old

That surreptitious sentiment

Be gone – protect the fold

 

 

Postscript: In memory of all those innocent civilians who have died in terrorist acts of violence

Published by Owen Tilley