The Musee d L'Orangerie (Unfortunately, photos are no longer allowed in the Musee D' Orsay)

To write,
To think our words will forever be on paper.
An imbecile’s thought,
That letters could immortalize our names forever.
Ink comes and fades,
Stones wear away,
And books crumble…
It is not what we make for ourselves here that endures.
Our lives fade like smoke from the sky,
Demanding our solid moment in time,
Then fading forever…
It is the life we leave that sets a higher foundation,
One for another nation,
As the tower of life grows taller,
Reaching toward something no one knows,
Yet, all try to understand.
This is why we try,
THIS, is our life.
"To Write"
Art of Monet, Utrillo, and Sanguine

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Poem and Photos by:

Jennifer White