Vive La Difference!
I could never learn a foreign language:
I’m far too proud of the English for that,
And, as for French, in particular,
My attempts at it always fall flat.
I’m too laissez-faire, I
don’t really care,
But I think I should mention, en
passant,
That I’m happy to enjoy their French food,
In a café with coffee
and a croissant.
Some hors d’oeuvres
would go down quite a treat,
Or the tastiest plate of Coq
au Vin,
Moules
mariniere and a bowl of frites:
I could eat them all, with chic
and élan.
The grand fromages of
France I simply adore:
Camembert,
Brie and Roquefort for a
start.
The fierce Maitre D’
holds no fears for me,
Working my way through the a
la carte.
And the great wines of Burgundy
and Loire,
From the Cotes Du Rhone,
Provence and Bordeaux.
No sommelier’s gonna put
me down,
Though far off-piste I’m
willing to go.
Entre
nous, I’m probably just lazy.
I’m blasé you can easily
see,
For I just won’t put in the effort:
I want it all as a fait
accompli.
Mon
Dieu! I’d love to be a linguist,
But I find it tricky and hard:
So many Gallic twists and turns:
One has to be constantly en
garde!
There’s the masculine and the feminine:
From these genders I’d need to be spared.
Sacre
bleu! If you don’t watch what you say,
It’s easy to end up in the merde!
I could cause a major brouhaha,
My feckless faux pas considered
crass.
The entente cordiale
might be at risk,
Before I deliver the coup de
grace.
There’s no obeisance in my renaissance,
I think I would lack the je
ne sais quoi;
I just wouldn’t look right in a beret,
Casually smoking a Gaulois.
My daily entrée to every
new day,
Is too lazy for many to ignore:
I just can’t get myself ensemble
-
I think I lack the esprit de
corps.
You see - I can’t speak a word of the French.
It’s obvious and easily seen,
So I sit and fume, with my nom
de plume,
And on the debate bring down the guillotine.
Yes - I’d best stick to ‘Allo
‘Allo,
And try and do the best that I can.
I’ll hang on to my plain old English,
And sadly say “non – je ne regrette rien”!
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