Ray Major
Zen in France A coon's age ago, Not far form Monet's garden, I stood on a slate patio With a whiskey in my hand And let a French girl nibble at my ear, Till she asked my religion. I told her I sat in meditation And read Zen poetry to cats. She was a skeptic, She scolded me with her finger, Tapped my glass and said, Monsieur, il n 'est pas le Zen. And I said Tu as raison, cheri And I poured the whiskey Down her dress. C'estle Zen.
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filii #21