In Paris, Words Never Die / A Tribute To Charles Aznavour Poem by Hebert Logerie

Words are like poets
Go see at the bottom of the berth
Ladies and gentlemen, you'll see that he's sleeping
Like a beautiful baby. Charles is not dead
Poems are made of words
Please take off the hats
To pay tribute
To this Great Singer, to this Wise Prince
Who wrote countless beautiful love songs
And who sang many humorous verses
In Paris, words do not die
As the songs will never die
Like this resting body in the shadow of peace
The words are everywhere, on the dock, in the woods
In the air, in the streets, in the forests
In the poems and in the mouth of the president
"In France, Poets never die"
They are like the dead who are wandering in the wind
Words are circus performers who caress tigers and boas
Words or lyrics are sweet as honey syrup
Without dying, words can lead you to heaven
Poems and songs are made of words
Charles is not dead. Listen to the screams and the sobs
He is sleeping. Leave him in the garden so he can rest
Do not weep. Do not cry. Leave him alone. Let bloom
The words which will become poems and songs
Which will hatch smiles from the ladies. Listen to the sounds
Listen to the symphony of words. Listen to the echo of his voice
Of yesterday. Aznavour is not dead. Weep, that's your choice
Because death is not the end. Cry as much as you want
Because we are all happy travelers
In Paris, words do not die, never, never
Words defy time, love, death and emotion.

Copyright © October 5,2018, Hebert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.