The Seine is a tale-bearer,
though glittering in diamond innocence.
The wolds all about her banks
brim with the warbling words
of little tongues lapping the shallow shores.
Tall grasses, half-submerged
and with heads hot in the golden air,
rustle in sudden gusts like whispered secrets.
Château Gaillard sits in silence,
like a ruined lover,
and believes every word she hears.
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