Everywhere in fragrant France the ivy grows.
Everywhere on stone white walls there is a rose.
And all her gardens can be walked between her low growth rows.
And all the while her dream springs from a serpent round her toes.
Is it her boat? Too grand to tow?
Her wandering travelers weariness begins to show.
As she sings for love in a cage she does not know,
“Take me love! Please begin to row!
Please take this love and let these shallow walls begin to glow.”
(ode to France)