Chanson d’UnElephant

The Song of France by Phil Burns

AnElephantCant claim to be musical
You know that he can’t sing or dance
But that does not stop him
Describing the rhythm
That for him is the sound of Provence

Les cigales are what we call cicadas
They create their music high in the plane trees
They play a cool song
Pretty much all day long
Using tymbals they relax and then squeeze

The laughter of children makes his heart glow
Although the school is some distance away
But their infectious joy
Is his favourite noise
They brighten his life several times every day

And then of course there are the wee scooters
Les motos as they are called over here
They buzz around like wopses
The volume only dropses
For a second as they pause to change gear

The Med plays her melody to his glad ears
He adores where the sea brushes the land
The waves crash onto rocks
The pebbles take brief walks
But most of all he loves the whispering sand

For AnElephant this produces a symphony
The music of love in the land of romance
Perhaps someone out there
Will come visit him and share
All these wonders that sing his Song of France