Casino de Monte Carlo, a lover’s chance meeting.
“J’aime,” his remarque, a most forward fond greeting.
They stroll to a park, a Monaco eve.
They gaze and walk on, first love to conceive.
The dim lighted streets, a zone to explore.
A brasserie sign, some grape to implore.
Five glasses of wine, tis not a good sign.
A teetering walk back, a hilly incline.
A bit of a stagger, she held him upright.
Our suave lover boy, no mishaps tonight,
Too soon a sweet kiss from this daring young miss?
Too soon a sweet love from this daring young tryst?
A roar from the Alps, crusade to the north.
The year, thirty-nine and he must march forth.
Who was this lad, this bold gentleman?
He might have been French, Italian or German.
“J’aime,” a remarque, she hears in her mind.
A Monaco cafe, a glass of red wine.
She’s now in her eighties, she’s there every night.
She toasts to her love, it keeps her upright.