Provence...a name of a place...and a sense...

Had I not been tired
Surely I would have admired
The wetstone slabs which did reflect
The lights from the closed gates
Of the houses on two sides of the road
And the silver glitz of the swords
Fixed in crosses on the wooden boards
On some walls of the place...called Provence...
Had I not been using contact lens...
I would have surely wiped my glasses
With the soft pinkish cloth a square piece
Kept in my trouser pocket without unease...
And looked again and again to get
The full meaning of the colors that spread
In different directions on the wetstones
I would have made a replica of the sword that shone
Like golden artefact so glamourous...
I would have for a wide angle shoot asked
The people...the curious bystanders...
At that place called Provence...
Where peace that evening came like a newly discovered sense...

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