A Simple Woman and Me
She was actually simple,
a woman,
simple,
she just loved
the best,
simply...
her common look
was enchanted
with all beauty...
a brilliant
splendid,
a eternal
diamond...
Of the music she loved
the splendid sound of
classics, from the french
light waltzes...
From poetry, all superb
verses of love...
The feeling of
velvet, the touch
of pure silk. The
haute couture, or
that it was a
simple pret a porter
it made her glow...
all in the saint
simplicity
and nobility...
the french cuisine
appreciated with praise.
cheese and chocolate
Swiss surely,
german white wine
tasted with fervor...
imported fragrances,
persian rugs,
italian shoes,
simple things
had the tour over greek island
to enchantment to her...
all normal and
simple as the
holidays in
Caribbean beaches...fly in the
jet planes to
have lunch in New York,
return to dinner
in Paris, have a
drink in Milan...
All simple because
she was very simple,
so simple and normal as
I was supposed to walk
in a crowded bus,
in a fetid train,
Dinner a set meal in the
Bar Dirty Foot...
or when I drink a sophisticated
Kool-aid with a slice of cake
at John's Bar...
Everything for her,
simple, only,
as it must be for me
too simple,
only...!
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