From other towns with different sounds we were wed.
We wove and tied our mother tongues to canonize this bed.
I have kissed your lily soul. And I’ve seen it nude.
You held me briefly once in a single solitude.
And the wind soldiers through
harmonies we once knew.
Our battle song:
While you weep for Wolfe, I’ll mourn for Montcalm.
A rooster and a lion both seduced the lamb.
We made angry, leaden love on the Plains of Abraham.
We might have made an iron truce in a bloodless tête-à-tête,
but I ran your sacred heart through with a lover’s bayonet.
I withdraw myself from you. Will you have me back?
Lay your fleurs-de-lis on my Union Jack.
And pull our emblems from the bier if there’s a chance
history has learned forgiveness, and time has learned to dance.
Maybe you won’t take my rose. I can’t read your signs.
It’s time to say adieu, so cent and un goodbyes.
There’s no dragon slain, no visions in the dark.
I’ll never be St. George, and Baby you’re not Joan of Arc.
© Audsongs 2010