You’ve been Loved by Generations, as the Centuries, did Turn.
Some say you don’t Deserve your Restoration, that Most Others, do Yearn.
Our Hearts are Broken, Our Lady, Why did you Burn?
You were Consecrated, to the Beloved, Virgin Mary,
Sacred to your Young, but for Some, this Means means Nothing.
But to others, your Violation, is Against the Almighty.
Let’s Look through my Words, and Glean, that you’re Worth Something.
If it can be Understood, you were the Finest, of French Gothic Architecture,
A Century off a Thousand Years Old, not Romanesque, but Later.
Your flying Buttresses, Unique, and Innovative,
Rib Vaults, Sculptural Decoration, are Inspirationally Contemplative.
You Graced Gay Paris, with your Bouquet, of Rose Windows,
Heavenly Lit and Stained, and Elegantly, gleEnormous.
Those that don’t See, all the Beauty, Think we should Bulldoze,
But would you Cut Down, an Ancient Tree, Old Buds of the Miraculous?
Those Stellar Buds, Sowed Seeds, of the Divine,
Manifested in Minds, Twelve Million, visits a Year.
If you’ve Never Been, your Thoughts, are Crystalline,
Obfuscating Others, with your Memes, that aren’t Sincere.
Those Ignorant, to its Cultural, Sublimation.
Let’s make their Tongues, more Sensitive, and Alkaline.
Unless we Live There, we can’t Speak, for Their Nation.
Forever may Change, a Historic Scene, and Skyline.
I Hope with all my Heart, Quasimodo, can Again Ring that Bell,
Cleansing the Air, from this Smokey, Acrid Smell.
Let’s Blazen ahead, and Not Let, our Lady go to Hell.
Let’s rebuild, so Quasimodo, can Again Ring that Bell.
