Friday, 14 December 2012



One cannot help another’s look,
one’s fine features shall not spread
to the other as dry twigs ganging would
under the tyranny of the match.
This is a shame as I understand them,
for the way at the table we talked
was uneasy in her beauty, in my inequality.
Too bad her looks could not to me extend
like the tea she spilled near the end.

St-Lambert, circa 1982.

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