When the Little Sparrow Sings (a poem for Edith Piaf)
by @deborah-birch
Tears from dusky lowered lids
crystallize and scintillate in the
flames of the guttering candles.
(Walk away, love, walk away!
Kiss my cheek and turn.-
A shattered heart beats, bloody in your breast.)
We love, and yet we return to our 'others'.
We pray we never hurt them. Pray we never break.
I cannot stop this love! I do not regret it. There!
I only hope that we hide it well enough that it not disturb the innocents...
because, we were innocents too, when it came crashing into our lives.
Bien! Non Regrets Rien. Sing the song, and Edith will sing with us. ...
Or Aznavour will. Or Lara Fabian, or Jacques Brel...
Sing on le chanteur et les chanteurs,
then come and weep with me.