In memory of Douglas R. Stewart, Mourning, Marchons

It was an honour to read his poetry.



Arms they hid beneath their cloaks,
Intent beneath facades of peace, And fixed their paths toward Montrouge,
A concert, and 130 dead Parisians, a City
Mourning, Marchons.

The City of Light knew then its friends, they
Rallied from the clovered corners of the
planet, The tears of auld allies and former colonies
Late enemies stood next to Marianne,
hands clasped in
Mourning, Marchons.

Current adversaries promise support, old
Pledge support and, as 70 years ago, is
Paris Burning?
NO! The City of Light lifts her torch,
Marianne sings, Her standards of law and justice remain
the same. Even in
Mourning, Marchons!

Douglas R. Stewart, U.S.A



Author: Leila Samarrai

I am a person of Himalayan seclusion, I am Atalanta in vestments of Helen of Troy, for me there is no term (aphorism there is, maybe). Cosmopolitan is too modest word for one who wanders across epochs without the help of the time machine. Some people consider me weird, because usually this is so when they do not understand something or someone that do not represent their existence. I love cats, an animals in general, I like challenges, I am persistent, I am combative (sometimes I can exaggerate in that - in all) If I were stylistic figure my mortal name would be Hyperbole. Read me. Know me. Conquer me :)

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