On Tuesday the twenty-third of December 2003,
Leyla Lovebird flew over to Paris from eastern Canada
And made her love nest somewhere in the 7th arrondissement.
On Saturday the twenty-seventh of December 2003,
She met her poet at Gare du Nord.
And later she played
Her favourite piece of music, Romance, for him.
After playing the violin, she said,
“My beloved poet,
Sometimes I visit Paris, the city of pleasure,
And entertain princes and princesses,
Preachers and presidents, poets and politicians.”
He asked,
“Politicians? How about them?”
She said,
From a distance they look small.
When you approach them,
They look bigger and bigger.
From a distance they sound big.
When you approach them,
They sound smaller and smaller.”
He asked again,
“Poets? How about them?”
She said,
Sometimes they are silent like a dormant volcano.
Sometimes they explode like an active volcano.
Silence wouldn’t be golden for poets.
They should speak out and enlighten politicians.”
He said,
“My dearest Leyla, my true friend,
I am hot!
I am very hot!
I am ready to explode!”
G G Gench
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