Saturday, May 28, 2016


I told her all about France and she thought Franz.
And she wanted to meet this Franz
with his beautiful cafés and spirited roundelays
and cobbled streets and handsome bookstores
and cheap beer and paintly straw brooms and
fashionable boulevards at dawn until I told her
I really meant France.

But she went to France anyway, and loved it
with all her heart. After much searching,
and staring, she finally did meet Franz,
and he was everything she dreamed he would be –
for truly, Franz was Franz.

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