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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.