Place Du Temple

Sidealk cafes, tables abandoned

Comes along a baglady seizing the water jug as her bond...
A wasted glass, half filled, with lipstick printed on...
Here she goes, stick her own lip on,
She drinks inside a whole world of dreams
She turns away, in a tried escape from all means...

In a slur, in a spit and, yet, another yell ...
She throwns over the city on the higest step as her spell

Place du Temple, somewhere in the heart of Paris,
from there, she travels she says, to Cairo, quite some emphasis!!!

Counting victories while the Eagle turns
Its somber Omen over the City's "Bourgeoisie..."
The old lady goes without much history!!!

All wrapped up in her old newspaper, she lays...
Devising, bemused, at her feet, as she prays
You... passing by... She will open her heart as wide as a postcard
Showing a tombstone of an old century

If you happen to come along in a gentle gesture
Lifting her dirty mane from the daily paper

Below her wrinkled face, over her plucked ears
parades in three columns, in tight rows and cheers
quite a plot of words... like Europe comes to end
In a world where all was to take place
...Yesterday...

by Marie-Sophie Geoffrey

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