Tuned in to the Great 208,
I can hear you even now,
singing along to C'est si bon.Until it wasn't so good,
and the lyrics stopped
somewhere near the Left Bank.
Paris was a lot closer
than the night caller.
A red 3:10 beside the bed,
and news that shocked.
Shaking by the phone,
to phantom ringing.
You and Dean Martin,
a duo never in the charts,
with only an audience of one.
It's just that things slip away
without a trace. San fairy ann,
as your mother used to say.
John Walter Taylor
© All rights reserved
20 January 2026
