Frank E Gibbard Posted January 12, 2012 Share Posted January 12, 2012 "Are you having your usual err ... short, Monsieur?" Toulouse-Lautrec winced at this slur. Mon dieu! He had need of drink, this could make him weep, Accorded an encore of disrespect from a bar-keep Another verbal épée sideswipe at his stunted body No fault of his, was sous contempt, unwitty, shoddy. "Merde!" he muttered tossing over the few francs due For the one shot he tossed back. "Monsieur, adieu! A so bald statement by a very insignificant bald man, An artist can grow in his stature more than you can." The spirit warmed, he left his rude ami there to ponder This riposte. With absinthe introduced heart feels fonder. That green deadly brew made him higher than his height And laid him sometime low but would aid him on the night. Jour hours away the short ill man's long defiance of "booze" He'd pursue, as pleaded by his maman, mais tousjours lose. (alcoholism brought Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec's death at age 37 but he left a treasure of thousands of canvasses worth fortunes) Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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