Song of Gaston

Hair falling in long tendrils of gold
Picking up the sunlight of Paris
SO different than any other afternoon
There were late day shoppers strolling
In quite Parisian fashion no less
Women with parasols and lipstick
Men with a paper and his pipe
They get a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine
Two glasses and they sit by the Rhine
This day I cannot see his golden hair
AS in the past days I would watch him sweep 
With an apron on clean and brisk
His cap on askew
He would not glance up or down only forward
I saw his eyes and they were blue
After sweeping the patio he removes his cap
That is when I see his lovely rakish hair
IT betrays him , for he  is fair and handsome
He is not tall
He is not fat
His laughter is a pleasant sound
Robust and sound it echoes in the square
A man not afraid,  nor ashamed of his humor
A man of a certain age
He wears  no ring but many do not
But on questioning,  I was told Monsiour Gaston
He is alone, save an old hunting dog his Papa left him
I love him 
He has seen me once and smiled,  an unsure smile
I try to be where he can notice me ... but he is a busy man
He does not look at the girls or the women
He is a serious man and sad on appearance
Tomorrow then my Gaston
 Tomorrow s the day I will present myself to you 
I can only pray you will smile and have a glass of wine with me
To see me in a lovely way.. a the day of Paris 
Reflects itself on the people and the water
I hope it will intoxicate your soul