As the lingua franca of today
Is no longer spoken in français
But rather in American anglais
From the “good ole U S of A”
I still speak my mother tongue
With those I happen to be among

Which it turns out is very fortuitous
As French to me sounds quite circuitous
Causing my eyes to freeze in a stare
With an uncomprehending, empty glare

Qu’est-ce que c’est que ça
Sounds to me like sis boom bah
From cheerleaders shaking pom-poms
And drummers pounding tom-toms

However, when I cannot fall asleep
I say in a voice basso profundo deep
Poetic words in a sonorous, French style
Then I’m quickly dreaming with a smile