Like We Were Fleur-de-Lys in France

We attempted to essay

a graceful shape today,

and we succeeded now and then.

You would curve and I would bend

and sometimes it was grand.

But mostly it got out of hand.

We generally bumped and ground:

we never found

a way to dance

like we were fleur-de-lys in France.

C’est la vie, you said to me.

I pretended to agree.










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