La Femme Mystere Poem by Steven B Taylor

Humorous


La Femme Mystere

Opus 26

Edgar Alan had his Helen,
Mrs. Luce's name was Claire.
Moi, je n'ai pas une femme.
Donnez-moi une femme mystère.

Many a poet's inspiration,
Lies hidden, in the darkness bare.
Qui était cette femme, Hèlent?
Qui était la femme mystère?

For each of us, the speculation,
Must be gleaned from what we read.
For, understanding the emotion,
Stems from knowing human need.

In my youth, was posed this question.
Who was Poe's true femme mystère?
What, the source of his inspiration?
And, what mysteries lay there?

Such attention made him great,
Shrouded in a mysterious air.
For this mystery, I ache,
Mais ou est ma jeune femme mystère?

Wishing for myself that mystery,
Which, for him, carved out a place,
Among the famous bards of history;
Sets my 'Tell Tale Heart, ' to race.

Si, tu es une jolie, jeune, fille,
Et tu désires un grand moment,
You could be my panacea,
Et, aidez-moi, mystère, foment.

Qui est la, pour moi, souvenir?
Who is there, to be my Claire?
Who is there, for me, so dear?
Ou est ma jeune femme mystère?

Having this great posture taken,
I must face the prospect, drear,
I am, by the muse, forsaken.
Et, Helas! , no mystery's here.

Ah! , but what has been the purpose,
Of this verse I did prepare?
So the name would never surface,
De ma jolie femme mystère?

Aha!

Eh bien....Le grand mystère!

Steven B. Taylor
July 25,1997