He and his uncle worked at Café Pau.

She used to watch him from a table in the corner.

He noticed, and thought that she had noticed who he was.

She just walked up to him, said 'Merci pour le thé' and

'Veux-tu sortir un de ces jours?'

His uncle accepted for him, and she was happy.

He was just confused; was zum Teufelist passiert?

She went back to her little attic,

And took out her best green dress.

She put on hand-stitched stockings and searched for

Her high-heeled red shoes. One was badly battered, and

Wouldn't be high-heeled much longer.

She shrugged it off and detached both heels.

She didn't brush her hair; it would get mussed, anyways.

She painted her lips, and put her change in a purse.

She beamed at her mirror, and felt like a movie star.

He was dragged back to the flat,

And forced into a tattered suit.

Uncle crooned and cooed like an old lady,

Was war mit ihm?

He smeared his hair with odorless pomade

And put some cologne on his neck

And as he pushed him towards the door,

Uncle handed him a franc; 'Vergessen nicht die Blumen!'

He felt like a dork.

He would have paid for their tickets;

The franc had not been spent.

But she smiled and refused it; 'Merci! Mais je vais le faire'

She clung to his arm and chattered about the movies;

He heard little and understood less.

But the movie was German, and it was nice.

'Plutôt bien', she agreed, but then whispered,

'Mais Hollywood est meilleur'

He'd never seen an American film.

She said she knew where to find one.

So they went to Raoul, and she took the reins;

'J'ai avec un ami, un garstrès doux,

Mais ilnécessitel'endoctrinement.'

Raoul eyed him suspiciously; he couldn't afford a spy.

He gave him a twitchy smile, the best he could muster.

The man was unconvinced, but puffed on his cigarette and said;

'Seul parce qu'il est avec tu', and let them in.

They walked down some hidden stairs

And on a plain wooden door, she drummed La Marseillaise.

'Tout le mondesait lespremiers versets,' she said,

'Mais qu'en est-ilde ladeuxième strophe?'

Someone knocked four times in response, and soon

They were among fighters, bohemians and the like.

Soon they would show a Chaplin picture.

Her friends were amazed by his innocence,

And so began to 'indoctrinate' him

On the wonders of the genius.

And as he walked past the city lights, still not quite

Believing what was before his eyes,

He felt an urge to smile that he'd never felt before.

The stars were shining, the sun was new.

Why shouldn't he smile, when the world was so far away?

And she felt his happiness, and took pride on a job well done.

He looked so much nicer with a smile on his face,

And the crease of his brow gone. She sighed and leaned against

His shoulder, never mind the horrid cologne.

If one is young, and in love, and in Paris, why should one care?