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The Pont du Gard, immutable, be admired in the Gard. Tired of all tintamare it sounds to the ears for several years he dreams. He dreams in discrete time when no longer of any relevance, it was what he was: An old stone building which secretly and proudly wore the centuries passed, the memory of hundreds of men, stories of stones and happily participated in the lives of young people in his region. It was customary for Easter Monday to go picnic at the Pont du Gard. Girls and boys, bands and colorful rieuses arrived any later. The songs were, people to share one another's famous apple pie and then before the night falls, young people are taking by the hand dancing merrily. The boldest and most reckless over for the assault and ended their journey by a farandole all up there at the top of the aqueduct. And now I've become a great monument, an international glory and no one can come tickle me shoulders. |
