It rains in your womb, old royal city
many passersby who come and go with
umbrella
blithely defying your corners
planning in the affection of emotions
that sweeten every piece of your land.
Your majestic palaces rise
with a discret color medieval presumption
with long but narrow trails
requiring every individual to be formal.
Discovering the center of your soul
water it with your tears the city
with a beautiful flow calmer waters
that each pedestrian would enjoy.
You stopover of this swing of my labors
are the heart, of circumstances and a chance
that came with you without thinking to rest
are the place of reason and thinking
place're delicious dish.
You, my Blois, my second rest.
Las hermosas ciudades francesas, encierran placeres maravillosos.
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