Dawn at St Emilion

Quietude sits on these light baked blocks
of carefully hewn and riven stone,
where swallows dart and martins soar
about their dormant alley’s course,
cheered on by trilling morning birds
that sing above our sandals’ clack.

Underneath the overlapping biscuit tiles
of steeply huddled rooftops, squat
tight as armoured links,
the coffee brews and croissants prove
and this frail spell is ushered forth,
to shamble into morning’s mood.

The convent ghosts repose once more
amongst the golden riches of Bacchus trove,
beauteous vines that feed their flock
and keep their secrets loyally.

© Graham Sherwood 6/2009