An Obituary for Francois Mitterrand

I was a schoolgirl then, in nineties Braided hair and full-blown inundation of dreams Yes. They still are strumming these to stack those feelings, intact As an old page of a novella still wash the eyelashes, with nothing too showy in fact! These often get teardrops whence a day is overpouring with drizzle out there, somewhere. Dreams and all about dreams, they do come home, with no specific stanza in Rome, still try to spare A Sonnet, a tire, attire or a screw, handheld too! For days too long ago, they jump into play, they surely do! I never thought about me, a glass covered VIP will be anyhow a mentionable from a perceiving crowd! Yet, I felt I lit up for the Marie, that did mention the good name, for so many ways, in his legend to be proud! Did he or did I that played on the height of a pin, I never felt that is a fair way to say, anyhow, anyway May they feel the bliss that got the receiving crowd into a French braid that received the sunlight, years ago, per say! How a president, a visiting one, will be the one to cherish the momentum of simple one, the grace, the Carpediem, the lone star and the lonely synapse of memory that does play in the half-lit room, in tune!