Cold stars shine on old silent city nigh

impassive twinkles lend no friendly glow

while a big, blue moon plays black shadows high.

Gargoyles on Notre Dame watch below

as patches of silver dance on rooftop.

They stretch dusty wings, wipe cobwebs from eyes.

Grotesque features quirk, quiver, and flop;

they echo a smile while starting to rise.

Granite wings feel the strain and they plummet

down to cobblestone streets like a fallen

crest of angels. Eyes turn to past summit.

Weary heads know, yet they smile. Befallen



forgotten protectors job done now crumble



content to fly once, in process to tumble.