Here, only some wrinklies

Will remember him now;

But the French still recall

‘Les Beaux Jours de Tony’,

When, the toast of Paris,

He crooned beside Sacha

And bested Miles at will,

With the meanest of horns.

His name, no burden there,

Would melt the gallic heart.

Then the trouble started:

Love – cheap, undiluted,

With the shabbiest ends –

The company he kept,

Read and leave comments (1)