Old Avignon is a Medieval city behind a high wall in southern France.  It was, during the 15th and 16th centuries, the seat of the exiled Popes of the Roman Catholic Church.  Bob and I were in Avignon for three days.  There were several times I felt lost in Avignon.  And I always felt as if I were walking in the company of ghosts.


I'm lost  in Avignon's
Narrow cobbled maze
Walking weathered stones
Medieval masons paved
Builders lost to history
With unrecorded names
Not set in stone, forgotten souls
Who sleep in unmarked graves
I'm lost in Avignon
Feeling draggy, in a daze
The wind cuts through my coat
It must be getting late
A flash of sunlight glimmers
From a scaffold by the wall
A phantom gestures with his trowel
Go that way, you're not lost
And for one frozen moment
We fix each others gaze
Eight hundred years disappear
And I hear his voice say
Go back across the river
Across the River Rhone
Tell your friends about the men
Who built old Avignon
And as I turn away
From the corner of my eye
I see a scaffold falling
And hear his muffled cry
Mon Dieu, My God, I die