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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=365788" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Marie Claire</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Down in the valley, beside the Seine<br>Where it's cold and damp in the autumn rain, <br>A couple once opened a restaurant, <br>And called it the Café d'Aubijon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The chef was Henri Apollinaire, <br>His wife, the beautiful Marie Claire, <br>And Henri worshipped his wife, complete<br>From her hair right down to her darling feet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Marie had more of a roving eye<br>For the guests and the diners, passing by, <br>While Henri slaved over plates of veal, <br>Marie saw hearts she would like to steal.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She flirted, fluttered and teased with eyes<br>That promised much to the less than wise, <br>She often removed her wedding ring<br>And leant so close, she was whispering.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She'd show each guest to his tiny room<br>In the long drawn lull of the afternoon, <br>Then disappear for an hour or so<br>While Henri dealt with the guests below.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then down amongst the crème brûlé, <br>The Guinea Fowl and the consommé, <br>The Chef sat brooding about his life, <br>Breaking his heart for his faithless wife.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So many guests had come and gone<br>From Caen, Toulouse, from Avignon, <br>From Brest, Limoux, from Vaux Sur Mer, <br>He wondered what he was doing there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But every time that he saw his wife<br>His heart said: 'She's the love of my life! '<br>He never would think to challenge her there, <br>Her loss would shackle him in despair! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A change came suddenly over her<br>When a guest called André Carpentier<br>Took up her offer of room and board<br>And sneered at Henri's estouffade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Too thin, too thick, the wine was sour, <br>He sniped, was muttering by the hour, <br>For nothing was well enough done, by half, <br>And Marie Claire had begun to laugh.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For every sneer, she laughed aloud, <br>To Henri's shame, a miserable cloud, <br>That stank as rotten as pourriture<br>Hung over his head and his future, too.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She taunted and teased with André there, <br>She wore perfume, let down her hair<br>She shortened each skirt in the cedar robe<br>While down in the kitchen, Henri moaned.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then she went visiting André's room<br>Each day, for part of the afternoon, <br>The business dying, it slowly failed<br>The door was boarded, the shutters nailed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He still served up their dinner and tea, <br>But cooking for not just two, but three, <br>Still André quibbled, but shamelessly<br>Sat with his hand on Marie's knee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">After a week of total despair, <br>She went for a walk, did Marie Claire, <br>André asked if she'd ever come back, <br>But Henri's eyes were ringed, and black.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He told André that he'd better go, <br>But Andre scowled, insisted: 'No! '<br>'I'm paid up here for a month and a day, <br>'Til Marie returns, I think I'll stay! '</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Henri cooked for them both that week, <br>His touch was light, and the food unique, <br>Cuisse de mouton, parmentier<br>He served to the hungry Carpentier.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wine so red with a strange bouquet, <br>Served with lashings of pink pâté, <br>Jambonneau and some crêpes suzette<br>And snacks, and biscuits and plain rillettes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Henri said that he couldn't eat, <br>He told André: 'I admit defeat! <br>You've taken the love of Marie Claire, <br>You should be together, it's only fair! '</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On Friday night as the meal began, <br>André lost the use of his hands, <br>Then a numbness rose in his feet, <br>He opened his mouth and he tried to speak.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Love is a horror, ' said Henri, then, <br>'It lifts, then drags you back down again.<br>But you, my friend, have the problem solved<br>You can have your love and your cake - Resolved! '</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'You've eaten and drunk your fill of her, <br>Marie, thin sliced and as cordon bleu <br>Each tender morsel you passed on through<br>Has made just one from the two of you. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But now the tables are turned, you see, <br>For she is starving, my poor Marie, <br>She's always happy to try fresh meat; <br>So glad that you offered! - all she can eat! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He left the room to his guest awhile<br>And then returned with a winning smile<br>Pushed on a chair with castors there, <br>While tied to the frame, was Marie Claire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Au naturel, not a stitch in sight, <br>André looked up, and he blanched in fright, <br>Marie had the looks of a cripple who begs, <br>She'd lost both arms, and where were her legs? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now still they sit, those lovers two, <br>Who stare as they eat each other's stew, <br>For André's legs are a thing of the past, <br>With other bits that he seems to have lost.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For Henri fed her the ris de homme, <br>While André chews on the sliced mouton, <br>He can't complain, for she's eaten his tongue<br>And she can't flirt, for her eyes have gone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">2 August 2008</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=David+Lewis+Paget">David Lewis Paget</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=365788" data-title="Marie Claire de David Lewis Paget" data-description="Down in the valley, beside the Seine
Where it's cold and damp in the autumn rain, 
A couple once opened a restaurant, 
And called it the Café d'Aubijon.

The chef was Henri Apollinaire, 
His wife, the beautiful Marie Claire, 
And Henri worshipped..."></div>
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