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Under the Mirabeau bridge flows the Seine
And our love
Must I remember them
How joy always came after the pain

The night comes, the hours chime
The days pass but I remain through time

Hand in hand, face to face, let us not change
While underneath
The bridge of our arms gives way
The waters’ endless look is grey

The night comes, the hours chime
The days pass but I remain through time

Love slips away like this running water
Love slips away
Just as life is so slow
And as hope is so violent

The night comes, the hours chime
The days pass but I remain through time

The days and the weeks pass by
Neither past time
Nor past loves will return
Under the Mirabeau bridge flows the Seine

The night comes, the hours chime
The days pass but I remain through time
Le Pont Mirabeau was written by Guillaume Apollinaire. It was first published in Paris on Feb. 1912. The original text is in the public domain.
Scott Hamsun Mar 2017
Things are changing fast, just as they should,
They've changed for the worse, now let's change for the good.

The national pride has dwindled and died,
Call us whatever you want, we have God on our side.

Please do not fear what tomorrow might bring,
This extends further than a political wing.

I'd like to give The EU a personal thanks,
You've shown what a cancer man can create.

Were turning our backs and we're done with your games,
If the countries collapse, we know you are to blame.

So thank you La Pen, You care for your land.
We'll show those ******* where to stick their grand plan.
"Paris doesn't look like Paris anymore"
Vote Le Pen!
RLG Mar 2017
A light-dappled square,
Buzzing like the
Center of the universe.
Flat-capped Frenchman
Strut like mid-century
Movie stars.
Cigars flaunt from
Languid fingers.
Serious facades mask
Red-blooded kinship.
They wait their turn to
To flick, to spin, to thud
Their steel onto
Provençal terrain.
What a life. What a game.
Title translated: Petanque Life.

Pétanque is a form of boules where the goal is to toss or roll hollow steel ***** as close as possible to a small wooden ball called a cochonnet (literally "piglet") or jack, while standing inside a circle with both feet on the ground.
Timmy Shanti Feb 2017
The sea is mild to-night,
The tide is full, the Moon lies fair
Upon the Straits.
XIII XII MMI
pretty old (or young... depending)
Leo Feb 2017
versailles has been waiting for your return
this time you will be reborn
out of bitter tears and infant screams
you have been baptised
and now the light of apollo will be in your eyes

the squinting girl will return
but now you are a lion-heart boy
and the twelve years that have passed for them
is twelve hundred for you!
versailles has been waiting
and you will go back
Arthur Vaso Jan 2017
Into the night I marched
Into deaths grip I fell

Musical notes running after me
Violins weeping afterwards

Stars fading into matter
Nothing matters without love

Lights shine over there
Can I reach or do I dare?

I can’t get out of this repressive chair
I can’t stand the people whom stare

My mind is all wrapped in shrouds
Hiding within the skies dark clouds

My smiles stolen by royalty golden
Now my tears flow as I weep

Is there any hope to keep?
Or am I doomed to deaths grip so deep

Gargoyles yelping for their fare
Me, dangling from the air

Aurore are you there?............
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