He said the air was better in Paris.
In Paris we could breathe
Like we never could
Here in the little home I had built.
I left with him
For the better air
And wine and cheese and cafes and Paris
And because I too wanted to breathe.
Yesterday he left
For Spain and Spanish things
And the little Flamenco dancer
From the Café...
Outside my window
The rain pounds mercilessly on the roses he planted for me...
Such lovely things,
So sad to see them die.
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