English is impersonal;

it, them, the.

The language of romance

is like a hospital,

sorting words into him, her,

blue, pink.

A chair

must be properly addressed.

“Hello, Miss.

Are your back and legs still strong?”

English is like staccato beats;

abrupt, hard.

“I love you.”

French is a soft breeze,

a sigh.

“Je t’aime.”

English is too plain, crass

while French has

subtle meanings hidden.

A soothing language,

waves lapping at your feet.