Spires tower. Lamps lume. Bells bong. Cathedral stands as a fatherly kaifong.
Bats flutter amok amongst the trees—for too bright are each belfry and each frieze.
Night owls nosh ravigote on Melba’s toast as her aria seeps from eve’s host.
With senses inspired at hour of sleep, bel-esprit begins craft—mindfully deep. ; )