Roy, I think our Church is ok, except for contraception and gays. I redid this poem after hearing from Catharine Brosman, whose French is anything but primitive, and after straightening out my head on Piaf, who by the time she was my age had been dead ten years:
Édith
Non, je ne regrette rien?
I fell into love just like you.
They knew, both the women and men,
the boy really hadn’t a clue.
I forget this is now, that was then,
and tears can obscure any view.
So much that I did, I’d undo,
je regrette de près le tout.
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